


Through the Wormhole

by inedible_rye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hermione is forced to play quidditch, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, POV Hermione Granger, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Young Bellatrix Black Lestrange, its hilarious, she's very bad, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27654392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inedible_rye/pseuds/inedible_rye
Summary: The Second Wizarding War is nearing its end. Hermione, Harry, and Ron have spent countless days planning to break into the Ministry. However, plans never happen the way they should. Someone was waiting for Hermione in the Ministry. Waiting to send her back in time. Now, The First Wizarding War is nearing its beginning. She finds herself deeply involved in the quickly escalating situation. And why is Bellatrix Black everywhere she turns?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 22
Kudos: 169





	1. Nothing good has ever happened in the Department of Mysteries

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone.  
> I'm trying to keep everything canon up to the point when this story starts which is around page 250 in Deathly Hollows. If I do diverge from canon I'll probably put a note as to why at the end of the chapter.  
> This is going to be a fairly long story. I already have a basic outline for part of the story, which I'll probably end up abandoning per usual, but I tried.  
> I've never posted on this site before, but since I've been spending most of my time here, I figured I'd post this on here.  
> Finally, my only proof reader is grammerly so please excuse any mistakes.

Some things were beyond forgiveness. Either because of the nature of the action or the nature of the person, some things were never forgiven. Not that Hermione would ever beg for it. She certainly wouldn’t so much as ask for it from the person standing in front of her.

That didn’t mean a trail of shivers hadn’t traced their way down her spine when the lift doors opened to reveal Umbridge. She was dressed in her typical gaudy pink clothing and talking to a man in ostentatious robes.

**“ Ah, Mafalda! Travers sent you, did he?” Umbridge said, upon seeing Hermione.

Of course, Umbridge didn’t know it was her. Hermione, Harry, and Ron had taken extensive measures before breaking into the Ministry that morning, which included polyjuicing themselves.

“Y- yes.”

She didn’t regret anything she’d done just over a year ago, but she was certain Umbridge was still very mad about the incident. With her name being one of the most wanted in the country, Umbridge needn’t even make up an excuse to exact revenge.

“Good, you’ll do perfectly well. That’s the problem solved, Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping, we shall be able to start straight away. Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee. Tut tut… even here, in the heart of the Ministry!”

Umbridge walked onto the lift and Hermione surreptitiously took a small step away from her, backing herself into a corner.

“We’ll go right down, Mafalda, you’ll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good Morning, Albert, aren’t you getting out?”

Hermione sent Harry a pleading look that went right over his head.

“Yes, of course,” and so Hermione watched, with what she was sure was a ghostly pale face as Harry, and her composure left the lift.**

“You arrived at the opportune moment, Mafalda. We were in desperate need of a record-keeper. No mudblood must be allowed to slip through the cracks.”

Hermione stiffened; what horrid things were the Ministry doing to muggle-borns? They were certainly being abused and mistreated. If only they had planned for this, they might’ve been able to find some way to help them.

“No, of course not. Um, when we get down there, what is it exactly I’ll have to do?”  
  
“This is your job, Mafalda. Surely, you must know what to by now do.”

“Of course, I just, um, I didn’t know if there was anything specific you wanted from me.”

“Ah, well, just make sure you take copious notes. The Mudbloods haven’t been very amenable so far. We must use every bit of detail to find out where they are stealing their wands from.”

“How do you know they’re not just buying them at Ollivanders?”  
  
Umbridge tilted her head. “Because a wand can only choose a witch or wizard.”  
  
“So, they stole wands because they’re not witches or wizards.”  
  
“That is correct.”  
  
“So then how do they do magic?"

“Excuse me?”  
  
“Only witches and wizards can do magic, if they stole the wands because they’re not a witch or wizard, how do they do magic?”  
  
“Well, they must’ve stolen the magic when they stole the wands. They’re very determined creatures, Mafalda. They’ve already infiltrated our Ministry, they find ways.”

Hermione was very tempted to argue with Umbridge right there. Different reason Umbridge was wrong immediately sprang to mind, ready to be weaponized. However, getting into a screaming match in the middle of a lift was not something she could risk. She’d probably get herself caught as well and then the whole thing would be over.

Of course, Ron might very well get them caught first. He hadn’t seemed to comprehend the basics of pressure stabilization charms so, if the office was suffering from anything other than a minor charms issue, Ron would accidentally reveal them all to the Ministry.

When she didn’t say anything, Umbridge decided to continue her tirade. “They’ve stolen our magic, our wands, our jobs, next they’ll be running the Ministry!”

“Actually, there was a muggle-born Minister of Magic in 1962. His name was Nobby Leach.”

“Aha!” exclaimed Umbridge, like she had just found a hidden secret, and not what was a rather well-known fact. “They’re already coming after us Mafalda. You see then, why it is so important we root out the Mudbloods immediately. They don’t deserve what little we’ve given them and now they’re using what they do have to steal from their betters, it’s egregious.”

If Hermione could punch one person it would be Umbridge. She was just so objectively wrong. She was filled with bigotry and arrogance. No one was fundamentally better than another person. This was the problem with people on the other side, they didn’t have any empathy, they didn’t care about anyone except themselves. They were content to sit in their privilege while others suffered. They were consumed with hatred and it was revolting.

“Mafalda,” said Umbridge with a voice similar to that of the whistling of a teapot.

“Yes?”

“This is not the time to dally, get out of the lift. We have interrogating to do.”

Umbridge sounded much too happy for what was bound to be a somewhat sadistic procedure. The only good thing, about spending time with the saccharine woman was that Hermione had an opportunity to look for the locket, which she’d completely neglected over the lift ride.

“O- of course, I got distracted is all.”

Hermione stepped out of the lift and her eyes immediately fixated on the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. It stood off to the side, hidden, and shrouded in shadow. That was where Sirius had died, where Bellatrix Lestrange had murdered him, her own cousin, in cold blood.

The hall was quiet save for the sounds of their own footsteps and uneasiness soon settled in Hermione’s skin. The air was getting colder; changing from a cool summer breeze to icicles lying on her bare skin. Hopelessness lurked in the corners, pulling everything good and pure from her body. It was so tangible, Hermione could practically see the strings of happiness trailing out of her.

“Don’t concern yourself with the Dementors, I’ll cast a Patronus to keep them away from us, as soon as we reach the trial room. It’s only the Mudbloods who need to be concerned.”

“You have dementors, here, in the Ministry?” She shouldn’t be surprised anymore, that was very on-brand for the wizarding world.

“Yes, of course, there are Dementors at all criminal proceedings.”

BANG.

Hermione spun around, drawing her wand, and searched for the source of the sound. The hall was empty save for her and Umbridge, who had just turned around.

“Who is that? Come out now and we may be lenient!” Umbridge yelled.

The hall soon filled with thick smoke. It snaked its way into her eyes, involuntary tears soon streaking down her face, and into her nose and mouth. She coughed and quickly shut her mouth.

A red light whizzed past her, followed quickly by a green one. Moments later a thud emanated through the room, likely Umbridge. A burst of laughter emanated through the room and not the soft laughter from hearing a friend's joke. It was the sound of a predator delighting in their prey. And it was vaguely familiar like she’d heard it once a long time ago. If she knew them… then they knew her. Umbridge was just a casualty; they were here for her.

She needed to move, quickly.

Hermione crouched down and moved towards where the wall should be. Footsteps echoed around the room, searching for her.

The smoke was getting everywhere and she started coughing again, it was getting very difficult to breathe. In a fire, there was less smoke towards the floor. Was that true here? This wasn’t a fire, but it was smoke.

Hermione dove to the floor, just in case.

A red spell flew inches over her, the heat of it warming her head. She muttered stupefy and sent the spell in the general direction the other spell came from. She started crawling towards the wall again. If she could just make it there, she could use it to guide her way out or to hide in a room. She couldn’t fight like this, without any sight.

Colors of every stripe of the rainbow sped through the smoke, each illuminating the haze near it in a psychedelic effect. One hit the wall next to her, and the impact of the explosion tossed her on her side. She was so close to the wall if she could just make it there…

Hermione blinked open her eyes, her world slowly sharpening. There was a dull throbbing in her forehead and she raised her arm to press her hand to it. Except her arm wouldn’t move; she tried to yank it up but something bit into her skin.

“Oh, you’re awake already. I presume that’s what I get for using a 28-year-old product. I’m sure you are quite confused. Don’t worry everything will be made clear soon. Unfortunately, I’ve had to bind you, I can’t have you attempting to flee.”

A bright blue flash illuminated the room.

Hermione went to speak, but no sound came out. Who was this? Who had taken her? She tried to move her head a little to see anything except the ceiling, but her head wouldn’t move. However, there was something soft against her head, a pillow possibly. Apparently, they cared about her comfort.

The room once again lit up with a light, this time a white one. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in surprise. How was she meant to get out of this?

“I’m almost done here; I can explain to you what’s happening then. Well, not really, I have a bloody script to follow.”

She’d heard the voice before, in the laugh from earlier, they’d definitely met, but where?

A dark black smoke began to envelop the room. Out of the darkness came distorted whispers that spoke over each other, creating the illusion of screaming coming at her from all sides. The throbbing in her head increased to an unbearable level. She couldn’t focus on anything except the pain.

Footsteps sounded faintly over the excruciating whispers and Hermione renewed her efforts to break out of the ropes surrounding her. The pain against her body as she squirmed was a welcome respite from the pain in her head.

“I’m going to pick you up now, Hermione.”

Sure enough, two arms wrapped around her and lifted her up bridal style. Where there should’ve been a face there was only darkness. The only identifiable thing about the woman was the tangible sensations of her firm arms around Hermione’s body and her hard clothing uncomfortably digging into her side.

There was a loud sound from behind them, like something being dropped. Hermione might’ve fallen out of the woman’s arms if she’d been able to move.

“Hmph, and she calls me careless. Anyway, it’s time for you to take a little trip. You’ll hate it as soon as you realize when you’ve ended up. However, you do get to meet me, and there’s nothing more enjoyable than that.”

Hermione was quite positive she didn’t want to ever meet this person again.

The woman carrying her stopped right by a bright light that was reflecting strange patterns onto the nearby wall. It was the only light source in the room and was reminiscent of the sun rising after a particularly dark night.

“This light in front of us is a time cycle. I’m sure you remember causing it during one of your escapades about fifteen months ago. For our purposes, I’ve had to make some adjustments,” The woman paused for a moment. “I suppose you helped as well, but only with the theory. The actual configuration in front of you was completely me. Before I place you inside, I’ll take off the spells I’ve placed on you. If you want this to go smoothly, which you do, you shall not use this as an attempt to flee. After you’ve finished your travels, you must go to Hogwarts and seek Dumbledore. It of the utmost importance you stay at Hogwarts for the remainder of the school year; no more and no less.”

The ropes left her body and her limbs flopped down at her sides. She tried to push herself out of the woman’s arms. It didn’t matter what she said about leaving; Hermione was not going in there. Her limbs didn’t seem to be working though; she could barely move them.

“Goodbye, Hermione. I shall see you soon.”

Then there was nothing supporting her and she was falling. Whiteness enveloped her, spreading out forever. She fell through it, quicker and quicker, and yet her body never hit the ground. She was weightless and lost in nothingness.

Time stretched on and on, as neverending as the emptiness in front of her. There was no way to tell how long she had been there. Hours? Days? Years? Seconds? How long would she remain there?

Eventually, the room around her materialized in front of her. Hermione still didn’t lane; she floated above everything, merely a spectator to life, no longer allowed apart.

The woman from earlier walked backward, Hermione’s body bound and still in her arms. The woman carefully set her back down on the floor and moved back to her work. Hermione stared at her body, prone and pale on the floor; like a cadaver.

That was her, lying on the floor, that was her body, but she wasn’t a part of it. She had been removed from it, and now she was staring at her own face as if it was that of someone else. She was far away from everything, separate from her own life, no longer allowed a place in it. Was she really even herself?

Her body soon disappeared along with the woman, and everything began moving too quick for Hermione to comprehend.

Night and day cycled by quickly, merely flashes in what seemed to be endless oblivion.

The pounding in her head got worse, but it was the only thing keeping her here, tied to the realm of the living.

Hermione crashed into the ground, a shockwave flying through her body at the impact.

The blurs were gone, leaving an empty room. The flashing had ended, leaving her disoriented and extremely alone.

She tried to push herself up, but nothing could support her. Every part of her body was just so heavy and the hard cold ground was as comfortable as her bed at home.

She was going to kill whoever sent her here, right after she figured out where here was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, If you made it this far thank you and I hope you enjoyed.  
> The part in-between the asterisks has dialogue, only dialogue, taken directly from Harry Potter and The Deathly Hollows around pg 246.  
> Please feel free to comment if you have any suggestions.


	2. 1969?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter.  
> One quick thing. Bellatrix was never given her a birth month, just a year. I have decided her birthday is in October for the purpose of this story. It's not completely relevant yet, but it will be. That's also why the story isn't set a year before it is.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Hermione’s world was comprised of pain; it consumed her and there was nothing else. In every breath sharp burns speared her chest. Her throat was bathed in acid and her head throbbed in time to the tilting of a room she could barely see.

Her only respite lay in two cool stretches of skin; small ponds of heaven amongst a land of hot firey pain.

If only the room would stop moving; she blinked and focused her attention on a small table in front of her. The room’s swaying slowed and eventually halted; it’s slanted existance unmistakable. Blood oozed along the floor, a stark contrast to the black tile it lay upon.

She slowly determined which part of the blob of pain belonged to each body part. Her left arm was pinned underneath her body; she slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position with her right.

An inferno blazed through her at this new movement. Maybe she could spread that cool sensation on her head around? She carefully raised her hand to touch the spot and stopped short. It was sticky and she nervously brought her hand down in front of her eyes. It was a bright red; definitely blood.

She quickly moved her hand down to touch the cool spot on her torso. She let out a scream; something had cut her open and she’d pushed whatever it was deeper into the wound. A quick glance down revealed something clear, probably glass.

Just breath, she reminded herself. It was difficult when every inhale left her with searing agony. She needed to fix that injury before she could do anything else.

The bag at her side had everything that Harry, Ron, and herself would need on the run. She had spent hours packing it and double-checking it. She wouldn’t have left without some sort of healing potion. They were hunting for Horcruxes and Harry had a major propensity for injury.

Harry… Oh no, where was Harry? They had separated and she’d had to go down to the hearings with Umbridge. But Umbridge and her… they hadn’t made it. There had been an attack… with smoke and a… a woman. That woman, she’d said... She… She’d sent her back in time? That was impossible, the time turners were all destroyed. Right? Yes, that definitely had happened. Unless she had one of her own. That would be highly illegal.

However, it was a solution. Something felt off, but it worked. Obviously, she had experienced something, her injuries made that clear, she just wasn’t sure if she believed it was time travel.

She needed more information. Once her memories were clearer she could figure out who that woman was. That would help with the how.

If she had gone back in time, she wouldn’t have much time to do whatever it was she was supposed to do here; time turners only went back five hours.

She grabbed her bag and carefully placed her hand inside; careful not to upset any of her wounds. Her fingers carefully danced around in the bag skating over books and clothes, other items occasionally rubbing against her hand. The one thing she needed was the one thing she couldn’t find.

She sighed and pulled her hand out. Where was her wand? She did a careful search of her own body and found it empty. Was it even here? What if she had been stranded without it? She quickly looked around the room, but she still couldn’t see. Where was it? She needed it. If she was stranded without it… That’d be it, she’d be captured or killed, possibly tortured.

Her torso was ripped open and a fresh wave of torment overwhelmed her. She bent down and saw that shard had shifted around. She slowed her breaths to calm down. Heal the wound first, then panic. She didn’t need a wand for a simple accio.

“Accio,” she cleared her throat, trying to shove away the acidy sensation sitting in her throat. “Accio healing potion.”

A small bottle filled with brown liquid shot up into her hand. Dittany. She smiled, this was perfect. Unfortunately, she knew there wasn’t a potion for pain in there. She’d have to do this the old-fashioned way. Hermione reached a hand into the bag and pulled out a shirt which was quickly shoved in her mouth. She uncorked the dittany and carefully set it on the ground.

The glass shard stuck out of her body at an odd angle and Hermione carefully curled her right hand around it. She’d pull it on three.

Three, two, one; the glass shard stayed where it was. It’s fine, just try again, she told herself. Three, two one. Where was her inner Gryffindor? It didn’t matter; third times the charm. Three, two, she yanked it out. She couldn’t wait until one, she’d hesitate again. There was something so definitive about one that stopped her from pulling.

Her scream was muffled by the shirt in her mouth. Spots exploded across her vision; a blaze of fire spread through her stomach. It was tempered by the cool blood gushing from the wound.

Her eyes were slammed shut forcing her to blindly feel for the dittany. The tips of her fingers brushed against the glass and she pulled it towards her. It leaned over against her fingers precariously. Hermione very slowly pushed it back up so it was standing back on its base. She grabbed the bottle and dripped the liquid inside over her wound.

A shriek escaped her lips and her cheeks were wet. Tears, probably. It was a miracle no one heard her.

When she finally opened her eyes and glanced down she saw that her wound had healed over, already looking a couple of days old. Hopefully, she had healed it soon enough to avoid scaring, but that all depended on how long she had been passed out.

Hermione carefully corked the bottle and let her head thud back against the wall. She curiously looked at her surroundings; having an opportunity to do so for the first time. The room looked the same as it had before, save for the rack of time turners next to her. Time had repaired the shelf which now held dozens of time turners. Every type of clock hung and sat on every surface, filling the room with a never-ending ticking.

A small hummingbird inside a bell jar was fluttering forwards and backward. It aged and de-aged over and over; Hermione watched it, entranced. Every stage of life flowed smoothly into the next. The bird had a purple and blue body with luminescent wings. It looked happy, even as it was trapped inside time, forced to go through the same cycle over and over.

She very carefully made her way out of the time room. The hallway outside was dark, but thankfully empty. The fewer people she ran into the better.

She would inevitably bump into someone and she had prepared for that. Hermione had cleaned all her clothes and draped a long black coat around herself to hide any blood she might’ve missed. She had also rinsed the blood off her face. The only giveaway would be her walk. Well, it was less a walk and more a stumble, which was the problem. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything about it as she couldn’t heal all her injuries.

She needed professional help for that. St. Mungo’s was probably the most obvious choice, but she was wanted by the Ministry for being muggle-born and one of Harry’s best friends. Hermione had no doubt the Ministry and therefore Voldemort was already interfering with Mungos. Even if the healers opposed Voldemort, they probably wouldn’t be able to help her.

What was it that woman had said? Find Dumbledore. That was definitely an option; Dumbledore could definitely help. And Hogwarts had a hospital wing. If Dumbledore told her not to ask questions she wouldn’t. Perfect.

Hermione finally stumbled over to the lift. Her distorted reflection appeared in the grate and she grabbed a piece of her hair. Brown and curly; the Polyjuice had worn off. She still wore Mafalda Hopkirk’s clothes, but she didn’t wear her face.

Since she was looking at her hair, she wasn't paying attention as the lift doors opened.

“If you would move, we both might go about our day in peace.”

Hermione looked up and let out a squeak. Standing in front of her was Lucius Malfoy. He looked younger and didn’t have a cane, but it was him. She held her breath and waited for him to recognize her.

“Are you quite all right?” He asked, frowning.

“Um, yes, I just, uhhh, fell.”

Since when did Lucius Malfoy show concern for muggle-borns? Maybe the Polyjuice potion hadn’t fully worn off? No, her clothes definitely didn’t fit right on her.

“It can be dangerous down here, you ought to be more careful,” his eyes narrowed. “I don’t recognize you, where is it you work?”

Hermione blurted the first department that came to mind. “The Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, level four.”

“And what is your precise job title?”

“I work in the office for House- Elf Relocation; being division,” Hermione responded more confidently now.

“Yes, but your specific job title, within the department.”

She paused a moment. No job titles came to mind.

“I suppose it doesn’t much matter. I have a favor anyone in your department may fulfill. I’m positive you’ll be glad to fill it; you wouldn’t want your integrity to come into question.”

Hermione was pretty sure he was aware she didn’t work here. Was she being bribed? How was she even supposed to do whatever he would demand she do?

“I recently placed a request to have my house-elf, Flecky, replaced. His behavior is awful, especially in regards to my son, Lucius—"

Hermione missed everything he said after ‘my son, Lucius.’ The words blared in her mind, like an alarm going off. The man in front of her looked younger than her parents; much too young to be a grandparent to someone her age.

“What’s the date?” She blurted out.

“Are you so oblivious as to not notice I’m speaking?”

“I— yes, I heard you speaking. The date? What’s the date?”

“The second of September.”  
  
Hermione was very close to shaking him and yelling in his ear. “The year. I need the year!”

“1969.”

Mister Malfoy had been standing right between the lift doors throughout their conversation; all paths out blocked by Hermione. This meant the doors couldn’t close and Hermione could push him aside to frantically enter the lift. Hermione repeatedly jammed her finger into the button marked eight.

“I have to go now. I’ll see what I can do about your house-elf. This was very informational. Goodbye Sir!” Hermione yelled at him as the lift doors closed. A very confused and slightly agitated Malfoy remaining behind.

Hermione stumbled through the Ministry atrium; pushing people aside as she knocked into them. Her eyes were set on a boy selling newspapers by the large fountain. He didn’t appear to get any closer as she walked. Stupid injury with its stupid limited movement.

She finally reached him and he glanced up at her.

“How much?” She gasped.

“A galleon per paper or we have a sale on our subscript—”

Hermione reached into her bag and tossed a galleon on the table. She pulled a newspaper off the stack before the boy could give it to her.

The headline read **Pro-Wizard Petition Ignored By The Ministry**. Hermione barely registered the title; she only cared about four words. She found them— 2nd of September, 1969.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. That can’t be—" she muttered to herself, leaning back against the newsstand and sinking to the floor. “I can’t believe it. That’s not real.”

Hermione bent her head down in between her knees.

"Twenty-eight years. That's twenty-eight years. That should be impossible."

The newsboy leaned over his stand to look at her. “Are you all right, miss?”

“NO! I AM NOT ALL RIGHT YOU IDIOT!” Hermione yelled, standing up and whirling on him. Her chest groaned in response and she leaned on the table for support.

She tried to smile at him through the pain. “I’m so sorry that was completely uncalled for.”

“Don’t worry about it, Miss,” he gave her a wide smile, undoubtedly perfected by years of customer service and people crazier than her. “I’ve read the papers too. We’re all a bit frightened. Heck, I’ve seen some of the protests. It’s crazy out there.”

“You have no idea,” Hermione muttered, “Have a good day.”

“You too, miss.”

Hermione took a floo from the Ministry to the Leaky Cauldron. She needed help getting to Hogsmeade; she was in no state to apparate.

She saw an employee working at the bar, scrubbing one of the glasses clean; she slowly walked up to him.

“Excuse me, do you know of a floo in Hogsmeade I can use as a destination point?”  
  
The man looked at her and his brows furrowed in concern. “Are you all right, miss?”  
  
She probably looked like a mess after her little shuffle run and frak out. “Yes, I just need a destination point in Hogsmeade.”  
  
“Why don’t you sit down in a booth? You look like you need a minute to rest, I’ll bring you a butterbeer.”

“I’m fine.”  
  
“I insist, please, it’s on the house.”

“All right,” she sighed, shuffling over to a booth in the corner. She really could use a moment to get her thoughts together before meeting Dumbledore. If she was going to tell him what happened, she needed to figure it out herself.

The woman who had sent her here was still a complete enigma. She’d been extremely secretive and cryptic. Her motivation was a complete mystery. Surely if she was going to be kidnapped, the person who kidnapped her would keep her, not throw her away.

The woman had just knocked her out in the middle of the Ministry and sent her twenty-eight years into the past. Even that simple fact was confusing. To break into the Ministry in broad daylight… The woman was either extremely crazy or extremely dedicated. Either way, she was smart.

Smart enough to figure out how to make her go this far back. Going so far back shouldn’t be possible, yet it’d happened.

Hermione had only been able to learn the basics of time travel third-year. The Hogwarts library had been sadly depleted of any time travel resources; most of the knowledge was kept within the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione had been told she only needed to know the two main rules of time travel. Don’t change anything and don’t bump into yourself. Of course, it’s preferential not to be seen at all, but that was more for practicality and secrecy than necessity. She had seen her teachers and classmates hundreds of times when time traveling in her third year. She was still sane. All that mattered was no one else realize you’re time traveling.

She could follow those rules; she had before. Her how and why were still missing, but she would get them both.

The man working there sat across from her and slid a butterbeer over to her. “My name is Tom. I want to make sure you’re all right.” His voice was soft, like a gentle caress.

“I’m all right, thank you.”  
  
Hermione took a sip of her butterbeer. She had to admit the warmth spreading through her felt very nice.

“Are you sure? You look injured. I can help you, miss. If someone attacked you we can report them.”  
  
“No one attacked me; I’ve been having a really rough day and I fell.”  
  
Somehow that sentence was completely true; it didn’t feel like it should be.

“You don’t have to be scared, miss. It’s my job to make sure everyone going in and out of Diagon Alley is ok.”  
  
“And I told you I’m ok and really I am. All I require is a destination for Hogsmeade so I can use your floo. I’m seeing someone there. They’ll help fix me up.” Her foot tapped against the floor.  
  
“Ok, miss. If you need anything before you go, let me know. The Three Boomsticks has a floo and so does the station. Use whichever is closer to your destination, neither will make you pay for anything.” He stood up to leave.

“Thank you."

She left a sizeable tip and flooed into the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione shuffled down the worn dirt road as quickly as she could. Hogsmeade had been disconcertingly empty, but she didn’t mind as long as it meant she could reach her destination faster. Hopefully, the passageway she had used her third year was still there. Or rather she hoped the passage had been made.

Hermione pushed open the gate to the shack and slowly made her way up to the building. It was a place filled with memories that had yet to occur.

The last time she’d been here had resulted in her previous experience with time-travel. Four years ago she’d naively assumed that was her last experience with it. That night had revealed truths long-buried and innocence long forgotten. That journey through time had been chaos and adrenaline, she could only hope this time would be less stressful. But she was alone this time; there was no one standing next to her, no one else to rely on. Harry was far beyond her reach.

Maybe twenty-eight years beyond her reach. Twenty-eight years of waiting, of aging, while nothing would change for them. No, she refused to let that happen. She’d return before this became anything more than a brief tumble through time.

Hermione sighed and lifted the trapdoor.

The passageway hadn’t changed much and she quickly made her way through it. A quick spell froze the tree in place long enough for her to climb out after checking to make sure no one was looking.

There were groups of students littered over the grounds enjoying the setting sun and the limited days of nice weather. Their stares lingered on her uncomfortably as she walked by. If only she had been able to change her clothes; they would provide a better disguise for her and her injuries. The clothes she wore were from the ‘90s and ugly even during that time.

However, she wasn’t willing to risk changing with her injuries or in the middle of the open. If she tried her only barrier would be a magically deranged tree.

The layout of the school was seemingly the same and Hermione efficiently made her way to the Headmaster's office. If she had her dates right, and she was sure she did, Headmaster Dippet died in 1965, which meant Dumbledore would be Headmaster.

_Hogwarts: A History_ clearly stated the only way to enter the Headmaster’s office was with a password. If Dumbeldore’s routine was the same the password should be a type of candy. Hopefully, she didn’t get hit over the head for guessing too many times.

“Um, ok, let’s see, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, um, Cauldron Cakes, Acid Pops, is it Fudge Fleas? No, Fudge Flies, I think, Ice Mice, Peppermint Toad… Jelly Slugs, Treacle Fudge—”

The gargoyle slowly and silently began turning to the side. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; she wasn’t well versed in candy types.

She tentatively stepped onto the first stair; grateful that they moved up on their own so she could just stand there, she was more exhausted than she ought to be.

The stairs deposited her outside a large wooden door and Hermione hesitated, her hand halfway to the door. Her story wasn’t logical at all. What if he concluded she was insane and sent her away? Well, she was here now and she had no other choice. She squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.

“Come inside.”

Stepping inside, she found a younger Dumbledore sitting at his desk; he had salt and pepper-colored hair and a slightly shorter beard than he would have later in life. He was in a bright purple robe and wore the same glasses he would in thirty years.

Sitting across from Dumbledore was a hardly recognizable Hagrid. He had no beard or mustache and shoulder-length hair. He was still large, but it seemed to be from muscle and not fat.

“Can I help you?” Asked Dumbledore.

Hermione tried to respond but found no words left her mouth and the world swayed in front of her. She stuck out a hand to steady herself but found nothing but air. The world went dark.

When Hermione woke it was to blinding light and she squinted to get her eyes adjusted. She found she was on a small but comfortable cot in the hospital wing. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, pleased to find the action didn’t result in anything but a minor ache in her chest.

A young woman with light brown hair and a friendly yet concerned smile emerged from an office and rushed over to her.

“How are you feeling, dear?”  
  
“I’m ok,” Hermione replied honestly.

“Any residual pain?”  
  
“Hardly any, just a little in my ribs.”

The nurse nodded and turned to a table nearby. It was well-organized despite its many potions bottles and papers. She took a bottle with pale purple liquid from the front and handed it to Hermione.

“Drink this, it’ll help with any residual pain in your ribs.”

Hermione tipped the bottle back and swallowed the potion with a slight grimace; it tasted like ash.

“Now, would you like to tell me how you received these injuries?”  
  
Hermione frowned, she really couldn’t say how. “I fell.”  
  
“You fell?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Off of a broom?” Hermione suggested. “What were my injuries?”

“I see.” The nurse didn’t look convinced, but she answered anyway. “You had two broken ribs which I fixed with skele-grow. You had a concussion and a bad gash along your forehead. I tended to the laceration healing on your torso as well. It’ll probably scar, unfortunately.”  
  
“Shame, I hoped I had healed the wound in time. I assume I fainted earlier, did that exacerbate my concussion?”  
  
“Slightly, but nothing I couldn’t fix. You say you healed the laceration?"

“Yes, with dittany. I don’t mean to sound rude, but who are you?”  
  
“Oh, of course. I’m Madame Pomfrey.”  
  
She could see the resemblance now that it was mentioned, this Madame Pomfrey looked like the other’s granddaughter. It was disconcerting.

“Nice to meet you. I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore.”  
  
“Of course, dear. He planned on speaking to you when you woke anyhow.” She spun away and walked into her office.

Professor Dumbledore walked into the hospital wing not long after. He pulled a chair up next to her bedside.

“I hope you are feeling much better.”

“I am, thank you, Professor.”

“I’m happy to hear it. Do you mind telling me why you were in my office earlier?”  
  
Right. How was she meant to phrase this? She’d briefly considered a multitude of options before the Headmaster had arrived.

“I have something important to tell you, Professor, but it has to be kept secret.”

If Dumbledore thought this was odd, he didn’t show it. He quickly cast a spell Hermione recognized as muffliato around them. “I find myself eager to listen.”  
  
She carefully recited her story, keeping out any details that might give him information about the future. Dumbledore’s eyes never left her and his gaze became more intense as the story went on. Hermione eventually found herself unable to make eye contact.

“You’ll forgive me for asking for proof of this story. While I am inclined to believe you, I must check.”

Hermione took a moment to consider. She had many things from the future inside her bag, but she couldn’t give Dumbledore something that would inform him of any important information about the future. Eventually, she reached in her bag and pulled out a book.

“This was, or will, be published in the year 1988, nine years from now,” Hermione said, passing Dumbledore the book.

“Matilda?” He asked. He looked at the inside cover, no doubt checking the date before leafing through it.

“It’s a fictional muggle book.”  
  
It had been her favorite growing up. She had always felt connected to Matilda, like they were the same person.

“Are you muggle-born then?”

“I am.” She raised her chin high.

Dumbledore handed her back the book. “This is a very interesting story if a little far-fetched.”

“You never cared how far-fetched something appeared to be. Are you telling me that’s a trait you just happen to acquire in the next 28 years?” She snapped.

“So I am alive in your time, then.”

That had been a mistake. She had to be very careful now.

“Our lives have overlapped. However, that does mean you are alive at the point in time I left from. Nor does that last statement mean you’re dead.”

Dumbledore might be alive in front of her, but he was more ghost than person to her. She had attended his funeral and mourned for him. She had watched Harry fall into hysteria over his death. As much as she had tried to help Harry, it was never enough. That pain wouldn’t soon be forgotten. Dumbledore didn't need to know any of that.

“Indeed,” he gave her a small smile. “What is it you would like me to do for you, then, Miss…”

“I want to go back to my own time.”  
  
“That will be almost impossible. If there is a way to do so, it will undoubtedly be dangerous.”

“This is not my time nor will it ever be. If I stay here I’ll grow old before I’m born; I’ll never see my friends or my family again, not in the way I know them. I’ve lost much of my childhood; I have no desire to lose my adulthood as well. I am well aware that my situation is unique. I understand the odds and I’ll take them.”

“Then you have my word that I’ll help you. However, as a muggle-born, I think you’ll find things less than idyllic. I hope that you might be interested in helping me change that.”

There was no question as to what, or rather, who was making things less than idyllic. She would rally against him with help or without. “What is it you want me to do?”

“There is a group within the school who I believe holds some connection to a man who calls himself Lord Voldemort. Do you know of him in your time?”

If she gave away she did, that would give away things about the future; she fought to keep her expression neutral.

“I see you do.”

Apparently, she hadn’t done a good job.

“That is unfortunate, I had been hoping… It is integral we attempt to stop him then. You’ll need to gain his trust enough to secure an invitation.”

“You want me to become a member of a hate group!?”

“A spy, that is all. Your job is to gather information, nothing else.”

“All right. What do we know about them so far?”

If this was how she could help then that’s what she’d do.

“It’s led by Professor Lennox, so his is the trust you must gain.”

“That’s all you’ve ascertained?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more.”

“What happens when the members have graduated? I assume they leave the group within Hogwarts at that point. Do you think they go on to work directly for Voldemort?”  
  
“I would not rule it out, Miss…”

“Gr— Actually, I doubt it’s wise for me to tell you my name, Professor. I have to disrupt time as little as possible and that means giving out as little information about the future as I can manage, which includes my identity. You’ll probably figure it out further down the timeline anyway.”

“Very well, you’ll need a separate identity anyway; a muggle-born will have no chance at infiltrating Voldemort’s recruitment group. I would suggest picking a name from the sacred twenty-eight. However, you must be delicate; purebloods know their lineage very well and we have many people from one of those families here. As you are so concerned with keeping your identity a secret, I’d suggest a new first name as well.”

“I’d like Cleo for a first name. I’ll have to do some research on magical peerage before I pick a surname.”

Cleo had been Hermione’s Grandma’s name. After her Grandpa had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, he’d often confuse her for her grandmother and call her Cleo. Hermione was told she looked almost exactly like a younger version of her Grandma.

Dumbledore looked her up and down briefly. “You could fit into the Selwyn family rather well. They were torn apart in the late ’40s; it will be easy to give you an identity as one of them.”  
  
“Oh, that’s fine then.” She would still be doing research into magical peerage, she’d have to fit in well after all.

“Good. As for the rest, you look to be a seventh year, or perhaps a recent graduate? I’ll need to complete a class schedule for you as well.”  
  
“I’m in my seventh year and I was taking everything except muggle studies, divination, and care of magical creatures.”

“Are you young for your age? We might fit you into sixth year.”  
  
“No, my birthday’s this month.”  
  
“Shame, seventh year it shall be. Do you usually do well in your classes? It’s important you do; it’ll give you a higher chance of securing an invitation.”  
  
“I’m top of my class,” she said proudly.  
  
“Good, very good.”  
  
“Might I request a permanent pass to the restricted section as well? To do my own research on time travel.”  
  
“It wouldn’t hurt.” He grabbed a pen and paper off the table and began scribbling. “Here you are, Ms. Selwyn. Do you have any more questions for me?”  
  
“No, but thank you, Professor, for helping me.”  
  
“Certainly. I will have your papers ready for you in the morning.” He rose out of his chair and began walking toward the door. He paused and turned back to look at her. “One last thing Ms. Selwyn. How was it you were able to enter the school?”  
  
“Er, I walked, Professor.”  
  
His blue eyes twinkled. “And my office?”  
  
“I guessed the password.”  
  
“You knew it’d be a candy?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Interesting,” he mused. “I shall see you soon.”

With that, he walked out of the hospital wing and Hermione collapsed back onto her pillow. Her eyelids were heavy and the bed was as soft as cloud. Sleep claimed her quickly.


	3. Betraying everyone with an ounce of Gryffindor pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know it's been a little while, but I really hate editing.  
> Anyway here's your chapter, you get to meet three important people.  
> I'm going to go write and then complain about editing. Enjoy!  
> 

The hospital wing was empty save for Hermione and Madame Pomfrey. There was a still quiet in the room that Hermione hadn’t experienced for years. The kind of quiet that made time stand still and left you with an eternity. The urgency seeped out of everything and left Hermione room to breathe for the first time in a long time.

She couldn’t necessarily relax; she always had too many thoughts flittering through her mind, but the absence of anything else allowed them to spread out and fill the space. They didn’t crowd each other and instead allowed themselves to be carefully sorted and analyzed as they manifested in front of her.

Unfortunately, what she knew was small and what she didn’t large. There were too many questions yet unanswered about what had happened the previous day; about what would happen.

Professor Dumbledore would be here soon and she’d be forced to assume a new identity and acquire information on a hate group led by a sadistic megalomaniac. Not to mention she was stuck twenty-eight years in the past and she was one of the people the hate group despised.

She’d have to be in Slytherin. It was where most of Voldemort’s supporters came from; it made the most sense. It gave her access to people and information she’d need in a way no other house could. She couldn’t ignore the obvious advantages that came with the house, but it left anticipatory dread settling uneasily in her stomach. She’d be surrounded by people who hated her on principle, by people she’d been antagonistic with for years.

She couldn’t let that dissuade her, when Dumbledore came back, she’d ask for Slytherin.

Soon enough, he came back. The doors to the hospital wing were shoved open and he swooped in, creating ripples in her perfect calm.

“Ms. Selwyn, I trust the hospital wing has been similar to what you’re accustomed to,” Dumbeldore said.

If that wasn’t a harsh reminder of her new reality, her new persona, then she wasn’t sure what was.

“It’s almost exactly the same Professor. It’s much quieter though, much easier to think.”

“I find it is always good when one has time to think, but too much time and we begin to lose ourselves to fantasy.”

“I have a lot on my mind, especially with what you want me to do.”

“You fear they will realize you are disingenuine,” Hermione nodded. “I would not worry too much, Ms. Selwyn; things have a habit of working themselves out. It may be easier than you think to blend in.”

“Now,” said Dumbeldore, leafing through a pile of papers on his desk, before pulling one out, “I have your class schedule here. I trust you have no objection to being placed in Slytherin.”

“None at all,” Hermione said as a twinge of guilt pulsed in her chest. She pushed it down; Slytherin was necessary.

Dumbeldore handed Hermione her schedule. “Not a Gryffindor then, Ms. Selwyn?”

“Actually, yes I am, but right now, I can’t be. I must be in Slytherin. It will help me get to know people who associate with Voldemort. Also, there will be too many familiar faces in Gryffindor. It would be much harder than necessary for me to be in Gryffindor, Professor.”

“Very wise, Ms. Selwyn. It is always good to meet a fellow Gryffindor,” Dumbledore winked.

Hermione gave him a small smile. “Actually, Professor, I was wondering if you had any advice for me about my task."

“I trust you used some of your considerate thinking time to prepare?”  
  
“I did, but—"

“Then I am sure you will be fine on your own. Ah, I believe our guest is here,” said Dumbledore, as a figure walked through the doors to the hospital wing.

Hermione turned in her chair to see who Professor Dumbledore had invited. She was expecting a teacher, hopefully, Professor McGonagall. Maybe, if she was to continue her streak of bad luck, a Ministry official. So, the girl who walked in was far from her expectations.

She had very curly hair, which was tamed as well as it could be, and an aristocratic face. Her crisp, well-kept Slytherin robes had a prefect badge pinned to them. She smiled at Hermione as she walked over.

“Ms. Black, thank you for coming,” Dumbledore said.

“Certainly, Professor,” she turned to Hermione and smiled. “Andromeda Black, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Cleo Selwyn, nice you meet you too.”

Hermione held out a hand for Andromeda who frowned and then grabbed it after a moment.

“Ms. Black is a prefect for Slytherin; she’s volunteered to help you settle in and show you around,” Dumbledore informed her.

Hermione nodded. “Thank you, I’m very excited to start school.”

“Wonderful. You’ll like it here.”

The name Andromeda sounded very familiar. Sirius had said something about a favorite cousin of his; she was pretty sure it was Andromeda. Yes, she had married a muggle-born and been disowned. She’d had a daughter as well, who was that? She was probably older than Hermione. Wait, Harry’d said something about Dracos cousin being Tonks. Tonks was her daughter and she married a man named Ted. Yes, that was right, purebloods were all related and it was weird.

“Are you feeling better?” Andromeda asked, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, yes, thanks. I, uh, took a pretty bad fall on my way here, but I think it was pretty easy stuff for Madame Pomfrey.”

“Yes, she’s quite talented. I expect she has to be, to work here at Hogwarts; many students get injured quite often. Not that you should worry about that, of course, that’s completely their own fault most of the time.”

Hermione was pretty sure that getting petrified hadn’t been her own fault, but then the cat hair incident probably had been…

“That’s good to know, though not surprising. It’s not like the school keeps basilisks or three-headed dogs inside.”  
  
“I don’t believe I’ve heard of a three-headed dog outside of Greece; they’re not native anywhere else, and well, who would wish to travel with one. Though perhaps that was the point of your statement. My sister’s always wished to meet one.”  
  
No, she really doesn’t.

Well, the image of a young, because she had to be young in this time, ok so a young Mrs. Malfoy at all was odd, but one trying to pet Fluffy was extremely humorous.

“They’re very lethal, she’d probably get her head bitten right off.”

“I doubt Bella would be enough of a fool to try and meet one that wasn’t in captivity.”

Bella. Mrs. Malfoy was Andromeda’s sister and Mrs. Malfoy was Bellatrix Lestrange’s sister. Bellatrix could shorten to Bella, she assumed. How had she not put this together earlier? Bellatrix Lestrange, Andromeda, and Mrs. Malfoy were all married in the future, so they’d all have given up their maiden name of Black. Bellatrix had killed her cousin, which meant they were related. There was so much evidence, she was an idiot.

Did that mean she’d have to see Bellatrix Lest— Black? How much older than Andromeda was Bellatrix? She had no idea, but if Andromeda was at least fifth year then maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with Bellatrix. Andromeda definitely didn’t look fifteen. Hopefully, she could avoid the abhorrent woman.

“Oh, of course.”

Well, if it was Bellatrix who wanted to meet the three-headed dog, it wouldn’t be so bad if she got her head bit off.

“So, Professor Dumbledore informed me that you’re in your final year of schooling. Why is it you’ve transferred so late in your education?”

Hermione took a deep breath and her fingers went to pick at her sleeve. If anyone would see through her, it would be a pureblood Slytherin and she’d hadn’t had much (any) practice with her lie.

“My parents homeschooled me before this, but they both passed away over the summer. I live with my Uncle now, and he wants me to attend Hogwarts instead of being homeschooled.”

In a way it was true; she had obliviated her parents over the summer. She might never get them back. It had been at the back of mind since she’d done it, that the effects might be permanent; that she had effectively killed her parents.

“Oh, that’s terrible, my deepest sympathies. May their spirits find comfort among ancestors.”

“Um, thank you,” Hermione replied.

They walked in silence for a bit, its only interruption from Andromeda pointing out important parts of the castle. Hermione was glad to see it remained mostly unchanged.

“How was your sorting done? It obviously wasn’t the traditional way.”

“Professor Dumbledore had me put the sorting hat on; it took a while.”

Technically, not a lie. She had been sorted, though it hadn’t been recently and she hadn’t been placed in Slytherin. Still, Hermione figured, the more she could lie without technically lying, the easier it would be.

“Sometimes it does that. If you go over five minutes they call it a hatstall, I’m not sure why people make a big deal of it, it’s quite boring. Oh, may I see your schedule? I might tell you about your classes and professors. I assume you’re to be in C dorm. I’m told it’s the only seventh-year Slytherin dorm with an open bed.”

“C dorm?” Hermione asked, handing over her schedule for Andromeda to study.

“The Slytherin seventh year girls have three dorms- A, B, and C. A and B both board four girls, whilst C boards three. Yes, your paper says C- dorm. My sister is in B- dorm, it would’ve been lovely if you shared a dorm. That’s unfortunate, but I’m positive you’ll both have classes together, what with you both taking so many.”

Three dorms? Hermione was aware her year had been small because of the war. No one wanted kids during a war, but apparently, her year had less than half the kids it would've had thirty years ago. They couldn't even fit everyone in the same dorm, now. She tried and failed to remember if the students born after the war had this many dorms. It was the head boy and head girl’s job to know sleeping arrangements, not the prefect’s.

“Your sister is in my year?”

“Bella, well her full name is Bellatrix, is in seventh year with you, I’m in sixth year, and my other sister Narcissa is in fourth year.”

That was the worst possible news she could receive. At least weren’t going to be sleeping together. Still, she’d have to deal with an insane bigoted woman who’d tried to kill her for a year. There was nothing good abo– Bellatrix was going to be in the death eater club Dumbledore wanted her to spy on. It was anathema to assume she wouldn’t be. How was she meant to spend what was bound to be a large amount of time in the same room with the sadistic psychopath? She had tortured one of her best friend's parents into insanity, there was not a single shred of good in her.

Not to mention, she’d do the same to Hermione if she found her out. New item on list: get revenge on Bellatrix and make her so frightened of me she doesn’t come near me and question what I’m doing.

They soon arrived at the great hall; Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor table. It was larger than she was used to, now much longer. The myriad of candles flickered high in the air underneath a cloudless blue sky. Her footsteps echoed loudly against the stone walls in the empty room.

“I’m afraid we’re rather late for breakfast. You shall have to take something to eat on your way to class. Your first one is charms, I believe.”

Andromeda’s voice faintly echoed from the other end of the room and Hermione quickly turned to follow her towards the Slytherin table, glancing down at her schedule as she did so.

Hermione scanned her schedule. Since she was taking nine classes, far too many for NEWT level according to most, she had to attend four classes that day. Charms, potions, transfiguration, and history of magic.

“Yes, with Mr. Lennox.”

“I like Mr. Lennox, as do most. He’s very charming, if not the most intelligent in any subject other than charms. Though, I suppose all that matters is whether or not he knows charms,” Andromeda mused.

Most of the platters on the Slytherin table were near empty, the house-elves obviously not believing there was enough necessity to refill them.

“I recommend the cinnamon rolls; they are exquisite.”

Hermione agreed: the cinnamon rolls were always perfect. She grabbed one along with an orange; she always paid attention to her sugar consumption.

“I can escort you to charms, but I’m afraid you must eat on our way there if you do not wish to be late.”

After realizing Bellatrix was currently at Hogwarts, Hermione had become occupied with figuring out what other future death eaters were at the school. She assumed Lucius would be here, and possibly a Lestrange brother. All Hermione remembered about the charms class, was that it was not in the same place as when she attended Hogwarts.

“Thanks, that’s fine. Do you want food? I don’t want to stop you from eating breakfast.”

“It would be unbecoming for me to eat in the halls. I am quite content to wait for lunch. Skipping meals is no foreign concept to me.”

Hermione glanced down at her food as Andromeda swept out of the room. She wasn’t being gluttonous, right? An image of Ron shoveling down food rose unbidden in her mind.

Hermione had long finished her cinnamon roll, but still had a couple orange slices in hand when they arrived at her charms class.

“This is your charms class, Selwyn.” Andromeda gestured towards a large oak door. “Unfortunately, our lunches do not overlap, so I likely shan’t see you before dinner. If you have need of assistance before then, you may always come find me or ask another prefect.”

“Thank you so much, Andromeda.”

“Think nothing of it, I shall see you tonight,” and then Andromeda was gone, leaving Hermione alone.

She turned towards the door, nibbling on her orange. Should she enter now or wait to finish her orange? It’d probably be weird if she entered eating an orange, right? She should definitely finish her orange, it wasn’t like she needed to go in now anyway.

She took started eating another piece of her orange; she’d never eaten slower.

“Come on, Hermione, it’s not that hard, just… open the door. Place a hand on the doorknob, turn it, and… push.” Hermione had finished her orange and was now stuck staring at the imposing door.

She had no reason to be nervous, but she was anyway. She was terrified she wouldn’t find any friends and would be mocked instead. Terrified that someone would find out her secret about being from the 1990s. Her secret that she wasn’t who she said she was. Her secret that—oh Merlin, she had so many. She wiped her sweaty palms on her robes; her green robes. They felt so wrong. Her body should be surrounded by red, not green. She felt so out of place in them.

In her mind, seventh year Hermione turned into first-year Hermione. When she entered that room, she’d have to stare up at everyone. They’d all be sitting in groups, comfortable and confident. They wouldn’t need her. She’d hang her head, letting her wild hair hide her face and the foreign red robes hid her body. Everyone would hurl hurtful comments at her. She’d end up crying alone in a bathroom on Halloween.

“Snap. Out. Of. It. Granger. You’re not eleven. You’ve done this before. You’ve done much harder things than this. You’ve fought bloody death eaters and broken into the Ministry. Twice.”

Before she lost her nerve, she grabbed the door handle and shoved the door open. The door slammed into the wall and Hermione grimaced at the loud sound. Everyone synchronously turned to stare at her.

“You must be our new student. Please, close the door behind you. Quietly, if you can,” a couple people laughed at this. “I don’t believe I’ve been given your name,” said the blonde-haired man. Professor Lennox, probably.

“Hermio- Cleo. Cleo Selwyn.”

He tilted his head at her and chuckled. “Are you sure your name is Cleo?”

“Yes!” Hermione said forcefully. She quickly turned her head towards the floor; her cheeks growing hot. “Hermione’s my, uh, middle name. It’s what my parents called me, but, well, it’s uh, it’s Cleo now.” Hermione muttered, picking at her shirt sleeve. She sighed, just like her first year.

“Well, do take a seat then, Cleo. We’re all glad to have you join our class. It’s always good to change things up a little.”

Hermione looked around and found that there was only one open seat. The chair next to it was occupied by dark black hair and a pale face filled with distrust and suspicion.

Hermione shuffled over and tentatively sat down, wondering how someone could already be suspicious of her. Well, her entrance had been anything but smooth. Still, the face looked very familiar, and Hermione was determined to make the best of the situation. She held out her hand.

“I’m Cleo.”

“You seem more like a Hermione to me. Not hiding anything are we?” They asked, before reaching out a rough hand and tightly grabbing, not her hand, but her forearm.

“Uh, no, just a little nervous on my first day. What’s your name?”

Sharp eyes narrowed as her hand was released. “Alastor.”

Moody? She had barely spent any time in 1969 and had already met two dead people in as many days. Maybe three dead people. She wasn’t sure if Draco’s grandfather was dead in her time or not.

Moody looked a lot different now that he was younger. He had two eyes, two legs, and two halves of a nose. His hair wasn't grey yet, and he was in surprisingly good shape. He was, Hermione had to admit, attractive. She turned her attention to the front of the class.

Professor Lennox started speaking, “We’re going to continue our lesson from yesterday. Cleo, I’m sure Alastor can catch you up on anything you missed. Fortunately for you, you’ve only missed one day of our class. Unfortunately for you, this is NEWT level, so one day might as well be ten.”

Professor Lennox seemed like the type of person to get involved with Voldemort. He was too… nice, too calm and laidback. That had to be a disguise.

“Yesterday, we started practicing a charm to give simple objects, like a candle, the ability to talk. We will continue this today, but I want you all to try it on something more complex.”

Professor Lennox reached under his desk and pulled out a clock, before slamming it on the desk. “Like this clock. Can anyone tell us why a clock is more difficult to use this specific charm on than a candle?”

What was this? Beauty and the Beast? She had always liked Belle, she thought, raising her hand.

“Ah, Cleo, wonderful, please tell us.”

“Well, with complex objects like clocks, you have to make sure you charm every part of it. You’re essentially charming multiple tiny objects with a singular spell. It’s a much more delicate process that requires very precise casting. If you’re not careful, you’ll encounter issues with the object's functionality. Then the object will desynchronize with itself. In this case, the clock would stop keeping time accurately.”

“Yes, perfect Cleo! Ten points to Slytherin. Everyone come and get a clock to start practicing on. Remember, if you charm it, you keep it.”

Hermione felt discomfort settle in around her shoulders and back at hearing herself earn points for Slytherin. She physically shook herself to try and get rid of it. She caught Moody looking at her.

“Um, would you like me to get you a clock too?” Hermione asked.

“No, I can get my own,” Moody stood up, and turned towards the front desk, leaving Hermione momentarily caught off guard. However, before she could get up to get herself a clock, he spoke again, “I can get yours too.”

“Thank you, M- Aaalastor,” Hermione said.

She should try to refer to him as Alastor. Referring to him as Moody might make him more paranoid. She didn't need him sneaking into her room to kill her in her sleep.

Hermione had managed to charm her clock before everyone else; earning another ten points for Slytherin. Unfortunately, she and the clock did not have matching personalities.

“How do you make time fly?” The clock, who had named themselves Claude, asked.

“I. Don’t. Know,” Hermione gritted out.

“Easy. Throw a clock off your roof. Not me, though, that would be awful. Speaking of awful; what do you think I’d look like without numbers?” Claude asked quickly.

“I’m not sure, Claude. Probably very plain.”

“No, I’d look timeless!”

Hermione dropped her head into her hands.

“Would you tell your clock to be quiet! I’m trying to do my work, which is impossible with its incessant puns,” Alastor hissed.

“Hey! I’m not an it! If I were an it would I be hungry? No! Hey, Cleo, what does a clock do when they’re hungry?”

Hermione looked at the clock. It wasn’t supposed to be able to feel hunger. Oh no, had she done something wrong? She was pretty sure she hadn’t. Maybe she had forgotten to charm the whole thing and this was a side effect? This could be a good thing; it might mean she was ahead in her spell casting. Ugh, probably not.

“Give me a second, Claude; I need to think.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure how to pull a second off of me. I could give you my second hand, I suppose.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hermione groaned. “I’m trying to help you. I need to figure out how to make you less hungry.”

“Oh, it’s ok, I figured it out,” Claude said happily, “I just need to go back four seconds.”

“Ugh!” Hermione slammed her head down, aggravating her already bad headache. She wanted to throttle the clock and throw it across the room.

“You let a clock outsmart you?” She heard Alastor ask.

“It didn’t outsmart me, it just—"

“I’M NOT AN IT!” Claude screamed. The class once again turned to stare at Hermione.

“Mind your own business,” Alastor growled at them. Most of the heads turned away. “I hope that my clock isn’t as annoying or self-righteous as yours,” he muttered.

“Insisting on your humanity is not self-righteous; Claude made a good point,” Hermione replied.

“It’s a clock, the whole point is that it’s not human.”

“Their name is Claude, and they have sentience now.”

“ _Claude_ can speak. That’s not the same as sentience.”

“Claude has to think in order to speak; is that not close enough to sentience for you?”

“They can’t feel emotion; you haven’t gifted that to them. So, no not sentient.”

“Perhaps I should try and give Claude the ability to feel emotion.”

“They’re annoying enough without emotions, don’t make that mistake.”

“We’ll see,” Hermione mused.

Soon, Alastor managed to get his clock to talk too. He immediately decided he was going to use it as an alarm clock.

“It’s far more effective than other ways of waking up. They know precisely what time it is and can scream at me until I’m awake.”

“Somehow, I doubt that you have much trouble getting up in the morning.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed and he glared at her. “How would you know that?”

“It was just a guess. You’re rather paranoid, aren’t you?”

If you had asked Hermione how paranoid seventeen-year-old Moody was a week ago, she would’ve said his paranoia was from the wars. She was starting to think she’d have been wrong.

“One can’t be too careful with everything going on.”

“Everything going on?”

As far as Hermione knew, there was another year until Voldemort publicly declared himself The Dark Lord.

“Are you so oblivious you don’t know about the rioting?”

The pureblood riots, how had she forgotten? When the new Minister for Magic had been elected, the squibs had marched for more rights twice; once at the end of August and once at the beginning of September. In retaliation to the first period of marching, the purebloods had rioted for ten days.

“Oh, right, the pureblood riots.”

“I’m surprised you forgot. You’re a member of one of the sacred twenty-eight. Surely, you know someone rioting.”

“Actually, no. I don’t have any siblings, so I live alone with my Uncle. He tries to stay as far away from politics as possible, which includes the pureblood riots. I don’t know anyone else in my family.” Hermione’s fingers twitched, trying to find the hem of her robe.

“What happened to your parents?”

“They passed over the summer.”

“Didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine; I know you didn’t know.”

They lapsed into silence for the remainder of the class. It was only slightly awkward. Hermione was glad she had had to sit next to Alastor; he was a familiar face, even if it was a suspicious one. She might be able to make it through 1969 just fine if she kept bumping into people who would fight with her in the coming wars.


	4. Bumping into pure-bloods

Hermione was starting to worry that none of her classes would go well. She’d only been to one class after Charms; Arithmancy, but she wouldn’t define that experience as enjoyable. She’d been looking forward to charms so it had been irksome to have the class ruined.

Hermione had sat down at a table next to a familiar-looking blond-haired girl. If she could figure out who she was she might have a little more confidence during their interactions.

However, this girl had introduced herself as Rita Skeeter. Even though class had started moments after, giving Hermione almost no time to process that information, Rita had managed to talk a lot. While her questions seemed to be more out of curiosity than maliciousness, unlike in the future, she had still managed to give Hermione an acute headache by the end of the class. 

Transfiguration came after Arithmancy and Hermione had been pleased to see Professor McGonagall was teaching the class. She’d been a kind and dependable presence for Hermione, almost like a mother in situations her biological mother couldn’t comprehend. Hermione might be a stranger to McGonagall, but surely they would still be able to grow a similar relationship. Maybe not one as deep, but still, it would be nice to have someone like that.

Hermione carefully pulled open the door to the Transfiguration room. It was similar to what it would be in the future, though there seemed to be more decorations along the walls.

Professor McGonagall herself, despite being the very same in some ways, was not at all different in others. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a familiar bun and a pair of glasses rested on her nose, enlarging her eyes. Her skin was free of wrinkles and she offered Hermione a slight smile as she walked up.

“Professor McGonagall? I’m your new student, Cleo Selwyn,” Hermione said when she reached the Professor’s desk.

“Welcome to Hogwarts and to transfiguration, Ms. Selwyn.”

“Thank you very much, Professor. I’m extremely excited to take transfiguration this year; it’s one of my favorite subjects.”

“I'm glad to hear that. However, I expect you to understand this class contains very complex material; it will not be easy.”

“I understand, Professor. I’m prepared for it.”

“I hope you are. If that is all, you may take a seat.”

“Of course, thank you.”

Hermione walked over to an empty desk on the side of the room where the other Slytherins sat. She glanced longingly over at the other side where a couple of Gryffindors were talking. One of them caught her looking and scowled. Hermione turned to stare down at her desk. It had never been so apparent to her how opposed the two houses were from one another.

The few people who hadn't arrived before Hermione slowly trickled in. Most of them glanced over at her and she tried to convince herself they weren’t whispering about her. She was new, but that couldn’t be that interesting.

“Ms. Black, I would like a word before we begin,” she heard McGonagall say.

Hermione's head whipped around and she stared. Logically, she knew that she was looking at Bellatrix. The girl obviously wasn’t Narcissa or Andromeda. Except, she looked so different than she did in Hermione's memories.

She was healthy. Her curly black hair looked silky and her skin was glowing. It was no longer the pale of the dead, but the pale of moonlight. Hermione watched her arrogantly walk down the aisle, twirling her crooked wand in between her fingers. Her robe hung open, revealing an untucked shirt and loosely tied tie.

She caught Hermione staring and winked.

The class started almost instantly after Bellatrix sat down in a chair far away from Hermione. This was perfectly fine with Hermione; she needed to prepare herself a bit before dealing with the Death Eater.

Professor McGonagall informed them that this class would be purely lecture due to the high amount of theory required for the NEWT level, something they should be familiar with from last year.

The first twenty minutes of the class were rather predictable; Hermione took copious notes and was the only one raising her hand to answer questions. Professor McGonagall appeared at first surprised and then slightly impressed by Hermione’s ability to answer correctly and with incredible detail.

It was Hermione’s turn to be surprised when Professor McGonagall, apparently for a new viewpoint, ignored her outstretched hand in favor of calling on Bellatrix.

Hermione turned to Bellatrix who didn’t appear to be paying attention to anything but whatever she was looking at outside the window. This was definitely one of those times when a teacher decided to pick on a student because they weren’t paying attention. Hermione had always found it completely unproductive and slightly mean. However, she wouldn’t mind if Bellatrix embarrassed herself, not one bit.

Bellatrix started talking in a bored voice, her gaze never leaving the window. Hermione just stared as she provided a meticulously precise answer to the question.

It happened twice more before Hermione waved her hand at McGonagall, who then called on her. Hermione quickly stated her addendum to Bellatrix’s answer.

There was the sensation of _something_ boring into her back and Hermione slowly turned around. Her eyes met intense unblinking black ones.

Professor McGonagall called on Hermione for the next question and she made sure her answer was as comprehensive as possible. Bellatrix immediately responded, pointing out an error she had made. Hermione started to correct her because Bellatrix was definitely wrong and she was right, but Professor McGonagall had moved on, leaving Hermione to stew at Bellatrix’s smug expression.

Hermione gathered her books as quickly as she could when class was over so she would have as much time in the library before her next class as possible.

The library hadn’t changed one bit, which included the librarian; Madame Pince. On Hermione’s arrival, she wasted no time in giving her a long speech about the library rules, obviously not knowing Hermione had heard that same speech during her first-year and had memorized it immediately.

Madam Pince's gaze burned holes into her shirt as Hermione flitted about the book stacks piling book after book into her arms. When she couldn’t carry any more books she found a small corner table to sit at. She resolved to check them all out so she could continue her transfiguration studies later. There were several things she needed to double-check and more she needed to do deeper research into. She would not be outdone.

Hermione was sprinting down the hallway; she was going to be late. She had been so absorbed in her work that she had lost track of time. She hadn't even been able to check out her books. How could she be so stupid? History of Magic started in one minute.

Hermione slammed to a stop; a jolt of pain hitting her as she collided with something. Another jolt ran through her as she slammed into the ground. Hermione let out a small moan; she had just recovered from her injuries, she didn’t need this. Her vision swam for a moment before focusing on a pair of legs standing in front of a stairway. She forgot one of the changing staircases moved here.

She dragged her eyes up until they met black ones. Black eyes that resided on a face with sharp cheekbones and pale skin she recognized from earlier. Oh no, Bellatrix.

“Watch yourself!”

“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” Hermione pulled herself up.

“Evidently not else you would’ve let me pass.”

“You should’ve been looking too. You were the one coming up those stairs; I had the right of way.”

“Do not be so arrogant as to attempt to tell me what to do,” she hissed.

“I’m just pointing something out to you.”

“Backtracking already?” Bellatrix stepped forward “Such a shame. I was hoping you would possess more backbone than a worm.”

“I’m not backtracking. The thing I was pointing out to you was that if anyone should be upset, it’s me because you were in the wrong.”

“I was in the wrong?” She shrieked.

Hermione flinched at the high-pitched sound.

“Yes. You were in the wrong, is that concept really so difficult for your small brain to comprehend?”

“I’m not the one who’s spent their entire life in some hut learning substandard magic.”  
  
“I did not grow up in a hut. How’d you know I was homeschooled anyway? Stalking me, much?”

“It’s all over the school dim-wit. Why would I wish to stalk you anyway? I’d be bored out of my mind watching you figure out how to cast an ‘alohamora.’”

“I learned that spell when I was eleven, like everyone at Hogwarts.”  
  
“Know the Hogwarts curriculum intimately now, do we?” Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

“I, uh, studied it before I came. What do you want anyway, Bellatrix?”

“From you? I desire nothing. You crashed into me or have you already forgot?”

“We’re only having this conversation because you won’t stop talking to me. I- I’m just trying to go History of Magic. To which I'm late!”

For a moment, Bellatrix almost looked embarrassed. Almost. Hermione was sure she was wrong anyway since Bellatrix’s face settled back into a haughty expression so quickly.

“Very well then, new girl, lead the way.”

“Lead… the way?”

“Yes,” she huffed, “lead the way, as in begin walking.”

“You have History of Magic too?”

“You certainly weren’t this dumb in Transfiguration earlier.”

“I’m not dumb!” Hermione protested and started walking.

Bellatrix seemed, antagonistic, perhaps, but not as sadistic as she’d be later in life. Hermione assumed it was an acquired trait.

“Dumb and deluded.”

“At least I’m not rude and ill-mannered.”

“I am very well-mannered, I simply do not believe simpletons deserve to be spoken to in a polite manner.”

“I—”

“Do not even attempt to speak, I have no desire to hear your awful voice any longer, dumb and deluded.”

“I’ve already told you I’m not dumb or deluded; get it through your thick head.”

“Why, you admitted to admitted to being both dumb and deluded earlier in this conversation.”

“I did not admit anything. You’re obviously the deluded one. I recommend you stop projecting onto others.”

“You said, at least I’m not rude and ill-mannered, which implies that you are dumb and deluded.”

“Implication is not the same thing as actuality.”

“Well, I suppose for someone as idiotic as you, the concept of implication might be difficult to grasp.”

“I’d rather be stupid than an awful person.” Hermione yanked the door to History of Magic, which they had arrived at a short time ago, open and strode inside.

Hermione wasn’t sure if her last statement was actually true. Would it make her a bad person if it wasn’t? Probably best not to examine that too closely.

Hermione was anxious to go to dinner. She was starting to get used to being nervous about doing anything in this castle. Andromeda would be at dinner and had said they’d see each other there, but did that mean Andromeda was inviting her to eat with her? She was fine eating alone at lunch when the hall was practically empty, but it would be full at dinner. That would be embarrassing. Everyone would see she had no friends; Andromeda, Alastor, Bellatrix. Worrying about who to eat with made Hermione feel fourteen.

Well, not fourteen, eleven, for the second time that day. She groaned. This was precisely what had gone through her mind before every meal first-year. She had ended up trying to insert her way into any nearby conversation to try and make friends. It hadn’t worked very well.

Stop it, Granger; you are not eleven anymore. Don’t act like a child, just go over and ask. Simple. Okay, not simple.

Hermione sighed; maybe she should just skip dinner.

Oh, she couldn’t skip dinner. Andromeda hadn't told her where the Slytherin common room was or what the password was earlier. She supposed she could find its location from what Harry and Ron told her after their second year. Then what? Wait outside until someone came by and said the password. That was pathetic. She was also very hungry.

When she walked into the hall, everything was loud. Everyone was talking over each other and silverware kept banging against plates. Hogwarts didn't get new students, so there were also several people ogling her. She was thoroughly overwhelmed and stood frozen in the entrance for a while.

Eventually, she forced her legs over towards the Slytherin table, which at least was quieter than the Gryffindor table. In fact, many students sitting there acted in a way that wouldn’t have been out of place at a formal dinner. Hermione found she preferred the calm to the chaos of the Gryffindor table.

She looked up and down the length of the Slytherin table whether for an empty seat or Andromeda; she wasn’t sure. Eventually, her gaze met Andromeda’s, who waved her over to where she was sitting.

Hermione smiled and walked over. Andromeda was sitting across from a girl with straight blonde hair and an even straighter posture. If Andromeda’s uniform was neat, then the other girl’s was perfect. Not a speck of dust out of place, even in the dining hall at the end of the day.

Hermione sat down next to Andromeda.

“Selwyn, this is my sister Narcissa Black; she’s in her fourth year here. Cissa, this is Cleo Selwyn.”

Hermione coughed. Mrs. Malfoy was young. Extremely young, which Andromeda had told her, but wow, they didn’t seem like the same person. She looked so innocent.

“’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Narcissa said.

Hermione offered her a small smile “You too, Narcissa.”

At least Narcissa was young enough for it to be hard to picture her married, and she wouldn’t accidentally call her Mrs. Malfoy. Probably.

“How have you found your classes as of now, Selwyn?” Narcissa asked.

Narcissa’s gaze was uncomfortable. Hermione had the distinct sense she was being thoroughly analyzed, like prey before its predator. It was incredibly unnerving to see that indifferent analytical expression on a fourteen-year-old.

“They’ve gone okay so far, I’m very tired from everything, but at least I’m not far behind in anything.”

“I can only imagine how exhausted you must be; transferring to Hogwarts. It is rather odd to transfer so late in your education. I hope it isn’t due to familial issues.”

Hermione did not like the look Narcissa was giving her. She picked at the hem of her shirt. “Ah yes, well, my Uncle is doing good. My parents passed over the summer unfor—"

“Why is dumb and deluded seated next to you, Andy?”

Hermione looked up and saw Bellatrix plop down into the seat next to Narcissa.

“Selwyn?” Andromeda asked.

“Please do not tell me you’re beginning to acquire some of her idiocy. To who else would I be referring?”

“Not everyone makes a point to be awful to everyone they meet, rude and ill-mannered.”

“You just called said I’m awful; that seems a little hypocritical of you, hmm.”

“I see you two have met,” Andromeda interjected.

“Clumsy rammed into me in the corridor earlier today.”

“Excuse me? I rammed into you?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Yes. While I was casually and calmly going to History of Magic you were sprinting around the castle in a poor attempt to be on time to class because you have a stick up your ass.”

“Speaking of, how was History of Magic today?” Andromeda asked.

“Fine until some irresponsible idiots started trying to get us all killed,” Hermione sent a pointed glare at Bellatrix.

There had been a game, started by Bellatrix, in the middle of class, involving seeing who could make the loudest explosion without Professor Binns noticing. They exploded a table before he turned around. Hermione had expected someone to get in trouble, but she should’ve known better after six years. He just turned back around and began teaching again.

Bellatrix mouthed something that looked like fuck off.

The rest of dinner continued in much the same manner with Bellatrix and Hermione quarreling and Andromeda trying to mediate between them. Narcissa would often defend Bellatrix, though she stayed away from verbally attacking Hermione.

Thankfully, after dinner, Narcissa and Bellatrix disappeared, leaving Andromeda to show Hermione to the common room.

“Here we are. This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room,” Andromeda said.

“The password is ‘Nihil Video. Quid vides?’ The password changes every fortnight, so be sure to check the notice board. I believe the next password change is on Saturday next.”

Immediately after saying the password, the stones in the wall began to slide apart; revealing a dark passageway, just wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side.

“Is that Latin? Mine isn’t very good.”

“You were never taught? I suppose your parents do seem rather unconventional. It roughly translates to ‘I see nothing. What do you see?’”

Was she meant to learn Latin? Was that a thing pure-bloods did? She’d tried to learn once she’d realized many of the spells they learned had a Latin base, but she’d ended up occupied with other things. Maybe she should try and learn.

“All right, I’ll try and remember that.”

“You can always write it down phonetically, the point is for it to be hard to remember. We can’t have anyone who’s not a Slytherin in our common room.”  
  
“Thanks, I’ll make sure to write it down.”

How would the Slytherins feel if they learned a Gryffindor was being openly welcomed into their common room? A Gryffindor muggle-born at that.

They walked down the passageway, which led them into a stone antechamber. The sound of trickling water sounded faintly in the distance. Andromeda lead her out of the small room and into the common room. Hermione’s breath fell away; it was stunning.

The room was lit by antique candelabras and a fireplace to the right. The fireplace was surrounded by black leather couches. Across from it were small booths and mahogany tables where students were doing homework. Busts and old portraits adorned the walls.

However, that wasn’t what Hermione was staring at as she walked down the steps into the common room.

The far-left corner was curved and made entirely of glass, looking straight into the depths of the lake. The window bathed the common room in an unnatural, yet beautiful, green glow. Hermione watched the lake animals swim by. The walls of the far side of the room were decorated with mini waterfalls, seemingly supplied by the lake water.

Overall, it had the effect of splitting the room into two sections. The closer resembled a gothic library and the farther resembled a shrine to the lake.

“I’m glad that you like it Selwyn, but your mouth will catch doxies.”

“Huh?”  
  
“Close your mouth.”

Hermione quickly snapped her mouth shut. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe— is the common room under the lake?”

“Yes, but only the second half of the room. If you sit by the window late at night, it’s quiet enough for the mermaids to come near.”

“Actually, I really don’t like mermaids.”

She might not have been awake in the lake fourth year, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have memories of the horrid affair.

“Oh, that’s a shame. You have little to worry about, though, they only come near late at night. Shall I show you to your dormitory now?”

“Sure.”

Hermione followed after Andromeda towards the lone archway in the wall.

“All the dormitories are through this archway. There is magic embedded into the archway that allows it to sense which dormitory everyone belongs to and send them there. It makes it impossible for anyone to get into a dormitory that's not theirs. Well, there is a small trick if you’re interested.”

“Definitely.”

Hermione didn’t have any plans to sneak in to anyone’s dorms, but it was always best to be prepared just in case. Besides, she was always interested in new magic.

“If you touch someone and walk through the archway with them, you enter the dormitory belonging to whoever walks through first. It works for as many people as you like.”

“That’s fascinating. How does that work?”

“I’m unsure. Bella would be able to answer your question, but I assume you shan’t be asking her.”

“Probably not.”

“It’s a shame you don’t get along with my sister. Perhaps one day that will change.”  
  
Hermione highly doubted that. However, telling Andromeda that more than thirty years in the future, Bellatrix would break into the Ministry and try to kill her and her friends, even though they were only fifteen.

They arrived at the archway.

“As a prefect, the archway allows me through to any dormitory, so I can come in with you if you like, but there’s not any need.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own, they’re just dorms, but thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll be over in one of the booths if you would like to join me?”

“Yes, definitely, thank you.”

Throughout the next couple of days, Hermione discovered that the Black sisters liked to spend a lot of their time together. Occasionally they would all go their separate ways or it would only be two of them, but the majority of the time, they were together.

Hermione’s favorite moments were when Bellatrix would leave, as it meant she could finally have some peace. However, Hermione dreaded the moments Andromeda left. She hadn’t made any other friends and being alone with Narcissa and Bellatrix wasn’t an option. Bellatrix was hostile and Narcissa didn’t do anything to negate that. Hermione had no clue what Narcissa thought of her, but she was pretty sure it was somewhere between ‘I can tolerate her’ and ‘she bothers me, but enough to make me ask her to leave.’

Luckily, this morning she had a break from Bellatrix and could attend Charms peacefully. She could also focus on getting her teacher to like her and invite her to one of his racist death eater groups.

She was currently staring at the table and trying to figure out how to convey to her teacher that she was someone who would love to join a bigoted blood- supremacist group. Her only idea was to yell something along the line of pure-bloods are superior to everyone else in the middle of class. She was sure that wouldn’t work out well.

“Cleo, you seem distracted, are you understanding the material alright?” Professor Lennox asked.

Hermione startled and nearly bolted out of her chair at the proximity of the voice. She looked up and found him looking at her with a concerned expression.

“Oh, yes, sorry Professor, I’m just a bit distracted today. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Are you worried about the riots?”

Things were getting more violent every day. The Squibs were still marching, and the pure-bloods were getting angry that the squibs hadn’t been arrested and placed in Azkaban. There had been two Aurors injured yesterday. The Daily Prophet blamed it on the Squibs, but Hermione was sure that was false.

“Um, well, A lot has been happening in my life, and…”

She paused; if she could subtly make him assume she thought the squibs were to blame for everything she’d be one step closer to where she needed to be.

“The Prophet said that squibs have injured Aurors. They’re just trying to keep the peace. The squibs shouldn’t be protesting; they’ve already been given so much, they’re being greedy.”

“Wise words, Cleo. Unfortunately, class isn’t the right time for this discussion. I still care about you and I want to help you if you’re anxious. We can talk after class today if you’d like.”

“Oh, thank you, that would be perfect.”

“I’m happy to help, I don’t like seeing my students upset. We’ll talk more later.” He walked away.

Hermione noticed Alastor staring at her.

“What?” She asked.

“I can’t believe you actually believe what _The Prophet_ is saying.”

“Of course not!” She hissed, “It seems a little too convenient that the squibs were the ones who hurt the Aurors when they have been completely peaceful, while the pure-bloods have been destroying property.”

“You just said something completely different.”

“He believes the paper; I heard him talking about it earlier. I don’t want to get into an argument with a teacher when I've just started here.”

“Good, because everyone knows Mr. Lestrange owns _The Prophet_. It’s obvious he’s controlling what the paper says and inserting his own views into it.”

“That’s disgusting. The newspaper is supposed to a place we can get our news from. How are we meant to do that if all we’re getting are inaccurate stories designed to support someone’s bias?”  
  
“I agree, it’s a disgrace. Someone needs to start a more neutral publication; there’s no way _The Prophet_ will ever be free to report unbiased. Even if it gets out of Mr. Lestrange’s control, someone else will steal it. What are you going to say to Lennox after class, if not how much you agree with the paper?”

“I need to ask him some questions about the class, so I’ll probably try and divert the conversation to that.”

“Good tactic.”

Hermione slowly packed up her things after class; she couldn’t bear anyone overhearing what she was about to say. When people had finished filing out, she approached Professor Lennox's desk. He waved his wand, and she heard the door close. Great.

“Cleo, hello. I'm glad we're getting the opportunity to talk. I also have to say, before we start, you are doing spectacular in class.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Now, would you like some tea? I find it makes talking about our troubles a little easier.”

“No, thank you. I’d just like to talk.”

“Certainly, these squibs are nasty business.”

Hermione braced herself, finding the hem of her sleeve for comfort. Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out so she shut it. The words she had to say were right there yet she couldn’t bring herself to say them. She stopped looking at Professor Lennox and focused on the odd pen on his desk.

“It’s horrifying the squibs are doing this. The squibs are magic-less. Obviously, they’re like that for a reason.” Her voice had risen high in pitch, and she struggled to bring it back down. Was she sweating? “The pure-bloods are right to riot like that.” Maybe she was sweating because she was bouncing up and down? Stop bouncing, Granger. “We deserve more than anyone else because our lineage has been blessed with magic.”

“There’s no need to be nervous, dear. I know some people might not agree with you, but I certainly do. This petition for more rights would change everything we hold dear. They’re attacking our culture, our way of life. It’s terrifying to imagine what will happen to our way of life if they succeed.”

“I just… things work so well the way they are. I don’t want to lose that. I like it.”

“I fear that that is exactly what might happen, Cleo. These squibs are just the beginning; if they succeed we’ll have an influx of people who think they’re superior to us. That the way we live is outdated and therefore inferior. They’ll try and force their religion and their ideals on us. We need someone who will step- up and help us protect ourselves. Don’t you agree?”

“Definitely. However, I also think we should all try and protect our culture. One person can’t do everything alone.”

“Quite right. Your family is from the sacred- twenty-eight, yes? I’m sure you have more to lose than most of us.”

“Yes, we are and, I’m, um, I’m very proud of it. I have a lot to lose, but I feel much better after this conversation.”

“Good, I’m so glad I can help.”

“You have very much, Professor. Thank you, so much. I really should be going, though. I have lots of work.”

“Yes, go! I don’t want to keep you from your academics.”

Hermione walked out of the classroom as quickly as she could, without being too suspicious. She felt terrible. She missed Harry and Ron. She missed her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware that that is not how the Slytherin Common room is described in book 2, however I don't care. The book's description doesn't make sense so I will ignore it.


	5. The attack of the fire crabs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended being about 3k words longer than I thought it would be. I almost split it up, but I just decided to keep it together because it doesn't belong with the next chapter and making two chapters out of this felt odd.
> 
> Also, I realized I made an error in chapter 2 with the timeline, 1988 is 18 years from 1970, not 9. I have no clue how I messed that up, but I guess that fairly sums up my math skills. Which is ironic, considering how much I love physics. I fixed it now though.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Hermione was used to sleeping in Grimmauld Place and to its dusty smell and rotting walls. She was used to waking up to Kreacher’s mumblings and the occasional screaming of Walburga's portrait.

She was not used to the gentle sound of the underwater current running against the outside of her window. She was not used to waking up in a sinfully comfortable bed in the Slytherin dorms.

The dorm was mostly decorated in shades of green and silver. A few candelabras illuminated the space, but most of the light was natural and came through the small windows looking out to Black lake.

While Hermione might be enjoying the newfound peace that came with the quiet of the Slytherin common room, her roommates were a different issue. Well, one specific roommate. Two of her roommates were perfectly pleasant. It was the third roommate Hermione frequently wanted to bash over the head with a book.

Rita Skeeter still had the unfortunate habit of following and pestering whoever she believed to be the most interesting source of gossip. At the moment, this was, of course, Hermione. Which meant that she was subjected to the same incensive chatter she had received from Skeeter in arithmancy earlier that week every time she tried to sleep, eat, study or, really, do anything.

Fortunately, it seemed it was currently too early in the morning for Skeeter to wake up and grace the world with her presence. Unfortunately, it meant that Hermione was sneaking around her own dorm room like a common criminal to avoid waking Skeeter. Still, much better than the alternative and she’d be in the common room with Andromeda soon enough.

Hermione was about a foot from the door when Skeeter’s sixth sense informed her of Hermione's dash to freedom.

“Selwyn? Is that you?”

Hermione quickly considered her options; what time it was, how exhausted she was, and sprinted out of the dorm.

She skidded to a halt in the common room, drawing judgemental and curious looks from a few people gathered. She desperately looked around for Andromeda. Not to be deterred, Skeeter ran out in PJs and extremely tousled hair a moment after Hermione.

“Selwyn! Hello!”

Hermione tactfully ignored her.

“I can see you, you know.”

Hermione couldn't find Andromeda and sighed before turning around. “Really? I assumed you were as blind as you were ugly.”

“That’s quite rude of you, Selwyn. I only wanted to discuss a thought I had last night.”

“Congratulations on having your first ever thought. How does it feel?”

“Tsk tsk, don’t be so callous; people are already saying you’re rather odd.”

“What do you want, Skeeter?”

“I was just thinking that we could work on arithmancy together.”

“Why would we ever do that?” Disdain coated her voice, but she didn’t care.

“We’re dormmates; we should converse, get to know each other better.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You’re new here. Do you really want to be severing your potential connections so soon?”

“She’s friends with a Black. She needn’t have any other connections, most especially yours.”

Andromeda appeared next to Hermione, a visage of arrogant revulsion upon her face. In that moment she was the epitome of an aristocrat; the family resemblance never clearer. Though she always moved with an effortless grace and kept a rigid posture, it was the expression that truly made her radiate wealth and superiority. She was regal, in the way only those born into it could be.

“I am simply trying to be helpful.”

“The only person you wish to help is yourself. Return to bed; before a bird, deicides to roost in your hair. Shall we, Selwyn?”

“Yes, I’m starving.” Hermione walked over to Andromeda and they made their way out of the common room. “Thanks, but you know I can deal with her alone, right? She’s much less menacing than she thinks.”

“Oh, I’m aware, in regards to both statements. It's simply much too fun to brandish my status in front of her.” Andromeda sent her a devious smirk, and Hermione chuckled. “After all, I must find some use for my name.”

That morning, breakfast was somewhat dull until the mail came. Hermione was used to the chaos of the Gryffindor table, so the quiet routine of Slytherin bored her a little.

As Hermione had not been able to get a daily subscription to _The Daily Prophet_ yet, she had been borrowing Andromeda’s. This turned out to be very irritating today as all four tables broke out into frenzied whispers at the paper's contents. There was also the occasional shout of celebration or jeer directed at the Slytherins. Across the table, Narcissa frowned at her copy of The Prophet.

Overcome with curiosity, Hermione didn’t wait for Andromeda to give her the paper and leaned over her shoulder. The headline **Pureblood Imprisoned For Defending Their Rights** stared up at her. She quickly read the article. Alastor was right; there was an obvious bias.

There was nothing in the paper she hadn't learned from History of Magic or her extensive reading. The Ministry had sent in HIT wizards and some Aurors to assert control after a building had gone up in flames. They were currently handing out sentences for damage of property and assault. Most of the protesters had been arrested and they were tracking down the few who had escaped.

“Do you suppose cousin Alderic is unharmed? I believe he was attending the most recent protests.” Asked Narcissa.

“I'm sure he's fine. The Ministry shan't likely hurt most of them, especially not a twenty-three-year-old Rosier. Even if something bad has happened to him, he can easily pay his way out.” Andromeda responded.

“At least the riots are over now; they’ve already injured multiple people,” Hermione added.

“And committed arson. I’m sure Bella wishes she was there for that.” Andromeda chuckled.

“They should’ve dealt with the Squibs first,” Narcissa said, still staring at her paper.

“How can you say that?” Hermione asked incredulously. “They weren’t the ones causing damage.”

“How can I not? With whom I agree aside, it’s the obvious solution. We were protesting the squibs; once they were gone, we would have been too. Additionally, as you said, the squibs were peaceful, therefore, fewer injuries.”

“What if they gave the squibs their demands? The purebloods would still be rioting and they'd be even angrier.”

“Why ever would they do that? You have heard what they’re asking for, correct?”

Hermione sighed, purebloods could be so obtuse.

The article was still being discussed later. Everyone had a different opinion on if it was good or bad or if the riots were even over. Everything only grew more complicated when people started arguing about whether or not the Squibs would have their demands met. Hermione had half a mind to jump onto the Slytherin table at dinner and tell them all exactly what was going to happen and that she knew because she was from the future. However, she didn’t fancy a permanent residence in Saint Mungos.

“I owled Mother in regard to cousin Alderic today,” Narcissa said, glancing up from her potions assignment.

Hermione, Andromeda, Narcissa, and Bellatrix were all gathered outside at a small circular stone table in the Hogwarts courtyard. They were taking advantage of the rare perfect weather.

“Hmph, why would you ever do that?” Bellatrix asked. She was sitting diagonally from Hermione and next to Narcissa. One of her legs was currently bent up, with her foot placed on the bench. Her arm rested on top of it as she used a knife to peel an orange.

“I inquired because I am concerned for him.”

Bellatrix waved her knife in the air. “Not ask of cousin Alderic; owl mother.”

Andromeda chuckled.

“Mother isn’t that bad.”

“You only think that because you’re her favorite, Cissy,” Andromeda said.

“How could she like either of us better when she has little baby Cissy?

“You’re right, Bella. Cissy’s soooo perfect; always doing precisely what mother asks of her. How could we ever stand to compete?” Andromeda said overly dramatically.

“She’s just. So. Cute. Such a perfect little doll, for mother.” Bellatrix leaned over and pinched Narcissa’s cheek.

“Would you both stop it?” Narcissa hissed, a slight blush beginning to spread across her cheeks.

“You know it’s true,” Andromeda huffed

“Yes, yes. Here’s your orange, baby Cissy,” Bellatrix held out the freshly peeled orange. “I expect cousin Alderic is perfectly well, if somewhat incensed.”

“Do you think he was caught?” Andromeda asked.

“Of course, he’s not the most skilled duelist.”

“He’d be in Azkaban, then. I can hardly picture him in such a despondent place.” Narcissa said, taking a piece of her orange and delicately biting into it.

“The Ministry likely doesn't wish to waste the resources required to take the protesters to Azkaban; they’re probably in temporary holding at the Ministry. Imagine being in Azkaban though, I think I’d go mad. Having any and all happiness sucked out of you; good memories turning to as sounds bad enough. But having all freedom stolen away, being forced to live in a tiny cell and whither away; having no choice in anything, that sounds like torture.” Bellatrix said.

Bellatrix seemed so genuine in her words, Hermione couldn’t help the small part of her that pitied Bellatrix.

Hermione pushed down any empathy towards Bellatrix; she didn’t deserve any. She would be in Azkaban because of what she did; because she was a monster.

Any concern Hermione couldn't push away herself was pushed aside by Bellatrix’s next words. “Of course, it’s the squibs who should be in Azkaban, not the purebloods.”

“The Squibs have done nothing illegal, but the purebloods have. You seriously want to imprison them because they don’t have the same beliefs as you?” Hermione asked.

Bellatrix turned to her and rolled her eyes. “No one should ever be placed in Azkaban. Personally, I think they should bombardo the fuck—”

“Language, Bella,” Narcissa reprimanded.

“They should bombardo Azkaban until it is nothing but rubble. However, if someone is going to Azkaban, it should most certainly be the squibs.”

“Because they hold different beliefs than you?”

“I'd rather send them than the people with whom I agree. Besides, the squibs are a danger to our society. But what about you, Selwyn, hmmm, who do you agree with?” Bellatrix leaned over the table and Hermione was momentarily blinded by a ray of light dancing off the silver of Bellatrix’s knife, which she had begun to spin.

“Errrr, I think both groups are being, um, overly dramatic, and should… tone it down?”

“Now, Selwyn, you can’t expect me to believe a single word you just uttered.”

“Frankly, Bellatrix, it is not your concern who I agree with or if I agree with anyone at all.”

Bellatrix leaned back and casually draped herself over her chair, all the while managing to look like a monarch on her throne. “Aww, poor Selwyn. Such a coward you can’t even admit you care for your pweshious wittle squibies. Is it because you know they’re subhuman beasts?”

Hermione stood and shoved her chair back. “How dare you! How dare you treat them like they’re less than you!”

Bellatrix smirked, “Gottcha.”

“You’re a wretched person. You want to know what I think? Fine. I think you are so blinded by your bigoted beliefs and your arrogance you can’t see the obvious. They. Are. People. There is nothing that separates them from you or me, nothing that is important. So what if they don’t have magic? SO WHAT? That doesn’t affect you in any way. They deserve to be able to live their lives peacefully, as equals. Magic has nothing to do with your intellect or your personality or anything important! It’s the people like you who are subhuman beasts.”

She finished, her chest heaving with exertion and three sets of eyes firmly planted on her. After a moment, Andromeda delicately touched Hermione's forearm. The coldness of her hand grounded Hermione enough to calm her down slightly and let Andromeda gently pull her back into her chair.

“You have to stay calm,” Andromeda muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear.

“How dare I? How dare you! I am not subhuman: I am more and will always be more than you could ever dream of, traitor. You think you can waltz in here and start hurling insults around just because you consider yourself to be some altruistic savior with a hero complex. You’re not a hero; you are a worthless person running around screaming of peace and coexistence. That will never happen. Your ancestors would be ashamed to hear you speak after what they’ve died for.”

“You think that I’m not aware of what’s going on? That I think there will be anything close to peace anytime soon? I don’t, because unlike you I see the truth of what’s going on and don’t throw anything that contradicts my beliefs to the side. I simply believe that we should grant rights to everyone and treat them all as equals. That does not make me a blood traitor. If I am needed, I will stand with your, er, my people, purebloods.”

“Well, blood traitor, if you want to stand with us, the time to do so is now, yet here you are preaching misguided ideals. Your lies are insulting.”

Bellatrix slammed her knife into the table centimeters from Hermione’s fingers, somehow managing to embed it in the stone. She strode away.

Hemione stared at the knife; it was a beautiful knife. The part of the silver blade sticking out of the table had black swirls and runes drawn across its surface. The hilt was made of silver and had lines of green stone swirling through it like liquid.

“She could’ve cut off a finger,” Hermione whispered more to herself than anyone else.

“Oh, no, Bella’s very skilled with knives, you’d only lose a finger if she wished it,” Andromeda responded, apparently having heard her.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Andromeda dragged her into Hogwarts shortly after, once a skinny dark-haired boy had made his way over and started talking to Narcissa, who had promised to return the knife to Bellatrix.

“You have to be more careful about stating your beliefs, Selwyn. Especially if your views regarding muggle-borns are the same as they are with squibs.”

“Of course they are, Andromeda. I don’t care who your parents are or if you even have magic. The whole concept of blood- purity is stupid. I don’t care if I’m not supposed to say anything, I won’t just sit there are listen to people say things like that.”

“Bellatrix was just goading you into stating your opinion, which was, honestly, quite obvious before you went on your tirade. She might have prejudices, but I can honestly only think of one person who genuinely believes squibs are beasts. That would be Grandfather Pollux and he's not quite right in the head.”

There was definitely something wrong in the head with Bellatrix as well, but Hermione refrained from actually saying that.

“She still has prejudices, even if she was over-exaggerating them. I won’t let anyone prattle on about any level of prejudice.”

“If you want to make it through the year unscathed, you must do so. Not only because of Bellatrix, but because of every single prejudiced Slytherin. They all take it personally when someone’s a blood traitor.”

“You don’t seem to be taking it very personally.”

Andromeda grinned and spoke in a quiet voice, after glancing around the hallway. “That’s because I’m a blood- traitor too. My best friend, Ted, is a muggle-born and we’ve known each other for a while. He’s even taken me to muggle London a couple of times; it’s brilliant.”

Somehow, Andromeda’s future marriage to a muggle-born and her disownment had slipped Hermione’s mind in favor of placing her in a box labeled bigoted pureblood Slytherin.

“I know, I’ve been too.”

“You have? Oh it was so odd, wasn’t it? Of course, it was very fun as well. I met some muggles too, Ted’s parents, they were very nice and intelligent. I must admit that surprised me. Especially as I thought they were trying to kill me when we first met; they made me ride in that automobile. Those machines are very much so death traps in disguise. Did you travel in one as well?”

Hermione chuckled, “Yes. You do know they're very safe, right? Especially if you wear a seatbelt.”

“That thing that tethers you to the automobile? I shall never use it. I will not die from stupidity.”

“It’s a much safer way to travel than broom at the very least.”

Andromeda sent her an affronted look. “Safer than a broom? How can a thing that requires a test to drive and a million rules be safer than a broom?”

“Brooms make you hurtle through the air at insane speeds. Cars let you stay safe on the ground.”

“Speeding through the air is the point; that’s how you arrive at your destination quickly," Andromeda frowned. "I assume this means you shan't be trying out for the Quidditch team?”

“Absolutely not. I will never fly on a broom again.”

“I’m certain I can find a way to get you on another broom.”

Hermione was pretty sure she’d rather ride the thestral again.

“Nevertheless, you must come to support Slytherin at our games.”

“Of course I’ll come.”

Hermione’s final class of the day was History of Magic. The late afternoon light was streaming in through the windows, illuminating the dust particles floating through the air. Half the class was asleep, and the other half was talking to each other. Hermione had to strain her ears to hear anything the Professor said. She always found herself very annoyed after this class for that very reason.

When class was over, she packed up her things and made her way out of the castle. There was a small tree she liked to study by with Andromeda and Narcissa. Well, Hermione would’ve preferred the library, but she was happy to study outside since the two of them actually did their work. It was refreshing to have people ask her for help only after they had actually tried to do the work themselves.

Even though they were below her in school, the two of them both managed to keep up fairly well with Hermione’s academic ramblings. It was refreshing to have people who could and would actually try to discuss these things with her. A lot of the time their conversations tended to steer towards astronomy or potions.

Hermione made her way down the stairs, fondly replaying a conversation in her mind about the properties of black holes and what they might contain when she noticed a young boy in a Gryffindor uniform trip over a trick step. He tumbled down the last few stairs, the contents of his bag scattering completely. She quickly rushed over to help him; it was second nature to help kids from her house.

When she bent down to help him with his things he scooted backward, a fearful expression on his face. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring expression.

“Here you go,” she said as she handed him a pile of books.

“Th- thanks.”

“Of course. Those steps are tricky; you’ll get the hang of them soon enough.”

He nodded, before stuttering out, “I’m a first-year and well… I just wasn’t expecting there to be things like moving stairs and fake steps. I’m so so sorry for bothering you.”

“I’m happy to help you out.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my sister’s favorite blood traitor helping a wittle Gryffindor mudblood.”

Hermione awkwardly turned around, crouched down as she was, and saw Bellatrix walking towards her. The girl was like a cockroach, honestly.

“Really, Bellatrix? You’re going to use a slur to refer to a first-year? You can’t honestly be clinging onto whatever power you think you have that desperately.”

“I will use a slur to refer to him as that is what he is— a mudblood,” she emphasized the last two words.

“There are nicer ways to refer to people. Shouldn’t you use them since you are, if I remember correctly, well-mannered?”

“Then you must also remember, blood traitor, I see no reason to be polite in front of such despicable company such as yourself and mudbloods.”

Bellatrix was standing directly over Hermione, forcing Hermione to crane her neck upwards. Refusing to be in a position that so closely resembled inferiority, Hermione stood up.

This put them nose to nose. They were so close Hermione could feel Bellatrix’s breath delicately touch her skin as she breathed and see the light reflecting off her obsidian eyes. If there had been any blemishes on her pale skin, she was sure she’d see them too.

She searched Bellatrix’s eyes, finding nothing but disdain.

“While I’m flattered you consider me important enough to change your behavior for, I wouldn’t have guessed you pathetic enough to bully people six years younger than you,” Hermione spoke in a low voice.

“I’m not bullying the mudblood; I’m confronting you about your bullshit.”

They had maintained an intense eye contact since Hermione stood up and she wasn’t going to be the one to fail and break it.

“And what bullshit would that be, Bellatrix?”

“When one says they shall stand with their blood, they usually don’t go and aid the enemy.”

“An eleven-year-old boy isn’t your enemy. He’s a child.”

“The children are the future. Best to root out the rot before it can take hold.”

“You would hurt an eleven-year-old child, an innocent, just because of his heritage, a fact he cannot change?” She couldn’t speak above a whisper.

“You misinterpret my words, Selwyn. I would never harm children, but their path must be corrected so the future may remain secure.”

Hermione’s mind instantly flashed to a much older Bellatrix chasing Hermione and her friends, children, around the Ministry their fifth-year. She took a step back, now incredibly uncomfortable with the proximity.

“You would hurt children, Bellatrix, even when you’re old and your hair graying. You will chase them if they dare fight against you because it’s such an injustice for them to fight against someone as superior as you. You will be terrified so much that you’ll begin to see children as a threat. You will fight children because you will always be inadequate.” She spat out the words like they were poisoning her throat.

“You know nothing of me and you dare— say your final words, for I when I am done with you there will be nothing left but blood and bone.”

In one motion, Bellatrix had a wand in hand and a red light flying from her wand.

Hermione jumped away just moments before it hit her. She grabbed her wand and immediately cast a protego.

When no new spells came, she dropped the shield and cast a spell. Purple light whizzed through the air before Bellatrix batted it away like a fly.

Hermione shot several more; purple, red, red, blue. The air crackled with power.

“Can you do no better, ickle bitty traitor?” She sang in a high voice.

Hermione furrowed her brow and shot another spell; bright blue light hurtled through the air. Hermione threw another spell to the left. Bellatrix spun around the first and into the second. For a moment Hermione thought she’d hit her, but Bellatrix smoothly dipped below it.

Bellatrix rose. She drew out a shape in the air. Then a second. A third. A fourth. A fifth and sixth. Hermione hastily made a second shield. Bright purple slammed into it, followed by orange, green, red, orange. Hermione could see the shield’s structure crumbling in front of her. Sweat dripped down her brow. The hall was aglow with rainbow-colored light.

A seventh spell: red, broke her shield. Shards of it went flying. Even as it broke, it managed to protect her from the spell.

“Avis,” she spoke, the first real words of the fight. White doves erupted from her wand. Bellatrix paused, glancing up curiously. “Oppungo,” the birds dove at Bellatrix.

The birds burst into flames. Ash and cinder rained down on Bellatrix as she laughed.

Bellatrix’s wand flew out of her hand and behind her. Hermione’s followed. Bellatrix turned around with coal eyes smoldering.

“ENOUGH! THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!”

Professor McGonagall rushed towards them, three wands now held in her hand. She flew past Bellatrix and then Hermione before crouching down on the floor.

The boy, Hermione had forgotten about the boy. He was pushed up against the stairs trembling. A weak shield flickered in front of him; any one of their spells would’ve easily broken through it. Blood trickled down one of his temples. Nausea swam around her stomach.

“How did this happen, Mr. Barnes?” McGonagall asked, wiping some of the blood off his temple.

“I- I bumped into the ah, the stairs. I th- thought there was more room. I didn’t want to get hit.”

“Of course. Let’s get you off to the hospital wing.” She pulled the boy up and turned to Hermione and Bellatrix. Her face instantly changed from worried to angry. “Are you both done with class for the day?”

Hermione nodded and heard a yes from behind her.

“Then, as you two obviously cannot be trusted with these, I will keep them until you see me for detention tonight. My office, two hours, and seventy-five points from Slytherin. Each. Am I understood?”

Hermione stared down and scuffed her shoe against the floor.

“Am I understood?” She repeated harshly.

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione mumbled.

“You can’t keep my wand,” Bellatrix declared.

“I can and I will, Ms. Black. Fighting is bad enough, but fighting in front of a first-year, who you could seriously injure, is completely unacceptable. I am incredibly disappointed in this behavior.” She walked off with the first year in tow.

Hermione rushed out of the castle and sat down by the tree. She just needed fresh air and a moment to calm down.

She had no wand. She hadn't been without one since the end of her first-year. Even during the summers; when she wasn’t supposed to use it, it was sitting comfortably in her pocket, just in case. There was always the chance that someone could attack her, that they were lurking just around a corner waiting to strike. How was she supposed to defend herself now? She was utterly vulnerable.

She needed to learn more wandless magic. She didn’t have the time, but she needed to, somehow. She had mastered silently casting spells long ago, but doing it without a wand? That was far more difficult.

“Are you quite well, Selwyn? You look rather twitchy.”

Hermione jumped up; she hadn’t seen anyone else there yet. Andromeda looked up at her concerned.

“Oh, er, hi, I didn’t see you here. And no, I am not well. I don’t have a wand! I need my wand, Andromeda!”

“That’s easy to remedy, we’ll just accio it to us.”

“No, you don’t understand, I didn’t lose it, I would never lose my wand, it was taken from me."

Hermione frantically paced back and forth; maybe Andromeda would lend her her wand.

“I have a cup of tea here. Why don’t you sit down and have a drink, alright? “  
  
Hermione glanced down and tentatively sat down. She took the cup from Andromeda and hesitantly took a sip. It was hot and burned slightly as it slid down her throat, but the sensation was enough to distract Hermione from her thoughts for a moment.

“So, someone stole your wand? I’m positive we can easily retrieve it.”

“It wasn’t a student. Uh, Professor McGonagall took it from me.”

“Oh, she’ll probably have it all locked up and warded against any spell work. When are you meant to get it back? It might be best just to wait it out.”

“After detention. Detention! I never get detention.”

“I wasn’t aware you could get detention while being homeschooled.”

“Oh, er, right. Well, that’s my point, I suppose. I’ve never had detention because I was homeschooled.”

“Detention is not so bad. Some of the teachers are rather mean, but most are fine. Why exactly do you have the detention?”

“Your sister.”

Two hours later, Hermione, still wandless, pushed open the door to Professor McGonagall’s classroom.

“Ms. Selwyn, I am glad to see one of you has arrived on time.”

Hermione glanced around the room, sure enough, it was only her and Professor McGonagall.

“Professor, I would just like to say how sorry I am. I let Bellatrix get to me. I just wanted to help, uh, he never told me his name, but the first- year. I was trying to help him, then Bellatrix came and she said awful things and I just let her provoke me. I’m terribly sorry. I should’ve just walked away when she pulled her wand, but I didn’t, and I feel dreadful. I should’ve paid more attention to the first- year.”

“Mr. Barnes took it upon himself to tell me his version of the story too. He was very adamant that you stood up for him and shouldn’t get in trouble. I do believe your intents were noble, even if you allowed yourself to go much too far in your rivalry with Ms. Black.”

Hermione frowned. “I wouldn’t say we have a rivalry.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“A strong dislike?”

Professor McGonagall simply stared at her with one eyebrow raised.

“Anyway, thank you, Professor, for, ah, not being too upset with me. I promise I won’t do anything like this again.”

“I trust you will not, Ms. Selwyn. You are much too bright to be getting into duels in the halls.”

Hermione nodded.

“How touching, however, I do believe it’s time for you to return my wand,” a voice drawled from somewhere behind Hermione.

“How kind of you to finally join us, Ms. Black. You will get your wand back after your detention with Mr. Pringle; there will be no magic tonight.”

“You’re giving us detention with pringle? I thought we’d be here writing lines or something else inane.”

“Mr. Pringle has a job he needs assistance with tonight. Besides, some teamwork may benefit the both of you.”

They made their way down into the dungeons in total silence until Professor McGonagal knocked on a wooden door.

“Come in,” said a gruff voice.

McGonagall briskly walked in, leaving Hermione and Bellatrix to follow her; Hermione rushing after her and Bellatrix slowly trailing behind. Professor McGonagall and Pringle had a short and quiet exchange before the Professor handed Pringle their wands and left. Hermione could feel Bellatrix sulking beside her.

“You see these boxes here,” he gestured to a dozen crates longer, wider, and taller than Hermione. They were all marred with scorch marks. “They need to be moved up to Professor Kettleburn’s classroom. I’d be careful if I was you. You drop the box and the crabs will probably escape. Ah, and no dead fire crabs, or you’ll be back.” He grinned.

“You're keeping fire crabs in wooden crates?” Hermione asked. She really should know better than to be surprised at things like this in Hogwarts.

“I’m sure you ladies will be just fine. If you aren’t, a couple of scorch marks never hurt no one.”

By now, Bellatrix had wandered over to the closest crate. She pushed the lid off the corner of a crate leaving a small opening. She leaned her head over it to peer inside.

“What are you doing? You’ll let them all escape!” Hermione ran over.

“I’m looking at the crabs, obviously,” A spout of fire came up next to Bellatrix’s head, and she calmly replaced the lid before stepping back.

Bellatrix didn’t seem like she was going to open another crate so Hermione turned her attention to the crates. How were they going to get them all up six flights of stairs without dropping one?

“I shall take half the boxes and you can take the other half,” Bellatrix announced.

“How are you going to lift it on your own?”

“Magic, obviously.”

“You’re going to use magic?”

“It is a pathetic witch who requires a wand to cast magic. How you get more stupid every time you utter a word is absolutely beyond me.”

“Like most things, I assume.”

“Listen, Selwyn, I will not hesitate to drop this crate on top of you and squash your bushy hair and tiny head while the crabs burn you alive if you continue to speak to me.”

Bellatrix turned back to the crate. With a small flick of her wrist, the box started floating forward. She followed behind it.

“No Magic, Missy. That’s the rule.”

“Is that a serious statement? Is my lack of wand, not enough?”

“I’d be happy if you used magic. I haven’t given any students a proper detention this year. Starting with two of you would be very fun.” He licked his lips and glanced over at a wall containing manacles and chains. Something that looked very much like a whip hung next to them.

“I’d rather have that.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“That sounds like something you should deal with, Selwyn.”

“Seriously, Bellatrix. At least just do it this way, so we don’t have to be down here together again.”

“We’ll spend less time in detention if we use magic now and come back a second time. This is not a debate.”

Hemione rushed forward and stood in front of the door, so there was no room to move the box out. “Bellatrix Black," Hermione said with more confidence than she felt. "I will not be coming back to detention; I will certainly not be coming with you, so we are going to follow the rules. This will be a one-night affair.”

Bellatrix tilted her head; considering. “Very well, let’s lift the boxes then.”

Hermione had not expected Bellatrix to agree with her. She assumed Bellatrix would’ve rammed the box into her before she would ever consent to Hermione's decision.

“Now, Invalid!”

Hermione walked over and grabbed the bottom of the crate. She felt the other side lift and quickly hurried to raise hers. It was an extremely heavy box. The sound of moving crabs and the box's scorch marks didn't make her any more comfortable with the task.

They slowly made their way out of the room and walked a few dozen feet before shuffling around a corner. Bellatrix suddenly dropped her side of the box, causing the lid to start slipping and Hermione's muscles to begin shaking. Hermione quickly released her side as a jet of fire shot out. She pulled the lid closed and glared at Bellatrix.

“What, Bellatrix? I don't want to, nor do I have the time to be here all night.”

“Neither do I, dumb and deluded, which is why you'll shut up for once and listen to me. We shall bring each box out. I’ll then use magic, out of Pringle’s sight, to float the crabs up to Kettleburn’s office. Since you are incompetent, you will sit here, out of the way, and wait for me to come back so we may begin again. In exchange, you shall owe me a favor. All right? Wonderful.”

“Wait, wait, wait, what do you want with a favor from me?”

“You can concern yourself with that when it becomes necessary.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Never had Hermione heard a worse idea than that. Considering some of the things Harry and Ron came up with, that was pretty impressive. Though, thinking about it, she was pretty sure most of those ideas had just been to wind her up.

“I refuse to haul boxes up and down the stairs all night because of your fainéant attitude.”

“I can do wandless magic. The implication that I cannot is insulting, almost as insulting as you calling me fainéant.”

“It’s perfectly reasonable for one to assume another cannot perform wandless magic when they say ‘oh, but however will you perform magic without a wand, Bellatrix,’” the last words were said in a high-pitched, mocking voice.

“I never asked you how to perform magic without a wand. You just assumed because I was trying to save time and adhere to the rule of no magic.”

“McGonagall was implying that we can’t use magic because she’d stolen our wands. Therefore, using wandless magic is a perfectly reasonable solution.”

“You know full well what she meant; you can’t just go disobeying everyone left and right because it suits you.”

“I am simply using her intent and badly worded instructions to serve my own purposes. Technically, I’m disobeying no one except Pringle and he hardly counts. I shall be using magic to lift this box. You can help me or you can sit. Actually, as you're obviously lying, I'd best start thinking about that favor you'll owe me.”

“Are you actually goading me into using wandless magic?”

“I simply won't be surprised when you sit down; your dueling earlier was pathetic. I’m certain the first-year mudblood would’ve easily blocked your spells.”

Hermione focused her energy on the box and on pushing the air around it in the direction she wanted the box to move in. She made a small motion with her hand and the box flew to the side. It knocked into Bellatrix and sent her tumbling face down onto the ground.

“Since you're resting, I'll do the first one.”

The rest of the night went much like the beginning of the night did. It would've gone much quicker if Bellatrix hadn’t spent the whole time mocking and goading Hermione, who was just trying to be as productive as possible.

Hermione was sweating with the exertion of wandless magic. They were on the twelfth box and the boxes seemed to get heavier every single time. Not to mention, some of the corners she had to move the boxes through were tiny and required absolute precision. The words turn and pivot were constantly bouncing around her head. The added heat from the fire crabs' jets of fire inside the box didn't help.

They finally slammed down the last box outside Pringle’s office. Hermione was thankful the last one was Bellatrix's job. She leaned back against the wall before sliding down it. The freezing stone was pure ecstasy against the heat of her skin.

“Awwww is the wittle blood- traitor tired?”

“I told you I’m not a bloo-“

“Agh! Pinchy, get back here!”

“What?” A jet of fire shot up right next to Hermione. She let out a shriek and jumped up. “Is that one of the crabs?”

Bellatrix stopped pulling the top of the crate back over the hole. “No, it’s a benevolent unicorn.”

Hermione watched two more crabs crawl out of the hole. “Finish closing it!”

She started looking around for the escapee crabs.

“I was doing that before you started telling me to do things I was already doing,” Bellatrix yanked the lid of the crate completely off. “Don’t ever tell me what to do.”

“Can you not act like a petulant child for just one moment? All the crabs are escaping!”

Hermione swerved over to the crate, trying to avoid the jolts of fire being shot at her from the crabs. She noticed Bellatrix standing nonchalantly, not doing anything. She didn't seem to mind the jets of fire spouting from the crabs by her.

“I’ll stop being a petulant child when you stop being an authoritative bitch.”

“At least I’m being helpful!”

Hermione lifted the lid, which was luckily light enough to lift without the rest of the box. She slid it over the top, leaving a little hole for the crabs to be placed in.

“Putting the lid on is pointless when fire crabs are running about shooting fire.” One crab got too close to Bellatrix and she kicked it away.

“If we don’t put the lid on,” She spoke slowly, mostly because she knew it would annoy Bellatrix. “The crabs will get back out.”

“Congratulations, you’ve used the same elementary logic, my cousin, Regulus possesses. He’s eight.”

“I’m sure you’re embarrassed that an eight-year-old is more intelligent than you.”

“Putting the lid on is a waste of time, you half-wit.”

“Yes, I know, I’m dumb. Get a new insult Bellatrix.”

“Very well. You're disloyal, useless, an invalid, annoying, bossy, uptight, a know-it-a—”

“I didn’t mean to start rattling off insults.”

Hermione sent a stunner at a crab; she missed. She shot at it again. She missed again. Technically, she hit a crab, just not the one she was aiming for. She picked it up and took it over to the crate, doing a weird jumping walk to try and avoid the crabs. She was sure she looked absolutely stupid.

“Leave the stunned crabs on the ground and put them in the crate after all the crabs are incapacitated. It’s not that hard a concept to figure out.”

Hermione had to admit it was a decent idea. Not good, but decent. She continued to shoot at the crabs, leaving the stunned ones on the ground. Unfortunately, she was exhausted from taking the crates up and down the stairs and wasn’t very effective. This was not what she meant by practicing wandless magic.

Every time she glanced over at Bellatrix, she seemed to be doing much better at hitting the crabs than Hermione. She was also a lot more graceful— fluidly dancing around the crabs while Hermione looked like a drunk clown playing wack-a-mole.

“Fucking piece of shit! Get your pinchy ass back over here. Ugh! Fine! Fucking run away, pussy!”

Hermione stared at Bellatrix.

“What, Selwyn?” Bellatrix angrily gritted out.

“What, Bellatrix?”

“You’re staring at me. That’s rather rude.”

“You just screamed profanities at a crab.”

“It burned me.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to wake up the whole school with your swearing.”

“No one comes near Pringle’s office. Calm yourself.”

Hermione sighed. “How do you expect to get this crab back?”

“If you want to find it, you can do that on your own.”

Bellatrix shot off a stunner. Hermione decided to find the crab before she and Bellatrix accidentally terrorized another first year that day.


	6. Traditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I can't believe it's already February, and a week into it at that. I could've sworn that I last posted a week ago, but it's been almost a month. I have a terrible ability to keep track of time and it actually negatively affects me a lot. Anyway, there's not a ton of Bella/ Hermione in this chapter, but we're getting to the point where they won't be able to avoid each other. Also, I'll have a lot more free time this month so I should be posting more often.  
> Please enjoy!

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Hermione landed in 1969. She was aware that some time had passed, but it seemed impossible for it to be that much. She hadn’t a single moment of quiet and yet there was not one thing she’d accomplished.

She hadn’t been able to learn a single thing about her situation. How did she get here? Why was she here? How did she get back? Could she get back? The questions were constant torture, a reminder of her ignorance. She might’ve had time to start researching if she’d been able to make progress with Professor Lennox.

She had tried so hard every time she saw him. Lies of blood-supremacist beliefs and laments on the state of their society floated out of her mouth every time they met. She was no closer to an invitation than she was when she first came here. The opportunity to join was slipping away every time they talked, like a tangible thing. Every day her chances got smaller and smaller, fading away to nothingness.

She had reached her deadline; Dumbledore expected to have something by now. He’d sent her a letter reading “eight o'clock is a great time for treacle fudge, wouldn’t you agree?”

There was always the slight chance he wanted to talk to her about something else, like a way to go back to her own time, but it had only been two weeks. That was extremely improbable.

“Are you feeling well, Selwyn? You’ve hardly touched your dinner.” Andromeda asked.

“She’s likely attempting to cut fat, Andy. Merlin knows she needs to.”

Bellatrix, ugh. Hemione’s new plan was to ignore her. They had fought and fought and fought since she’d arrived and, if she was honest, Bellatrix was starting to distract her from more important things.

“Professor Dumbledore asked me to meet with him tonight. I don’t think it’ll go well.”

“He probably wishes to expel you,” Bellatrix happily replied. She took a bite out of a carrot.

It was illogical; she knew why Dumbledore was asking her to his office, yet the mention of that age-old fear sent a jolt of fear up her spine.

She threw away any notion of not engaging with Bellatrix; she wouldn’t let her scare her.

“You’re far worse at potions than me; if anyone’s getting expelled it’s you.”

“You are not better at potions than me.”

“I always have the best potions in class.”

It was true. Now that Harry and his stupid book weren’t around, Hermione was able to outperform everyone in potions. Not that Bellatrix didn’t make this difficult; Hermione was working harder than she ever had to be top of the class. It was incredibly annoying, especially because Bellatrix beat her in some of their other shared classes.

“That’s only because you engage in sycophancy. I’m surprised Slughorn hasn’t yet invited you to his little club.”

In all the commotion since the end of sixth year, Hermione managed to completely forget about the Slug Club. Of course, it was Bellatrix who pulled that tragedy out of the recesses of her brain.

The idea of it was worming its way into her brain. She needed to receive an invitation. Who would she be if she wasn't good enough to be invited? Even if she’d rather stay as far away from that club as possible; she needed an invitation.

The whole thing with Ron and Cormac McLaggan last year had been enough drama for her. Still… an invitation would be some proof of her ability, you didn’t receive an invitation if you weren’t talented, if you didn’t potential. She could always avoid going after she received an invitation: that was the important part after all.

“I haven’t been invited _yet_ , but I’ve been here all of two weeks. You say it so bitterly it sounds like you haven’t been invited.”

Bellatrix snorted. “Of course, I’ve received an invitation. I find offense with the club because it’s an obvious excuse for Sluggy to leech off the talent of others.”

“Slughorn isn’t so bad and neither is his club. The parties can be entertaining,” Andromeda added.

For once, Hermione found herself agreeing with Bellatrix. Not that she was going to say that out loud.

Andromeda continued talking. “Cissy and I are members as well, so once you receive your invitation because you’re simply too talented for him to ignore, you can join us all.”  
  
“I’m not a member, Andy.”  
  
“Slughorn invited you to his compartment on the train to school. That’s practically an acceptance.”

“The only reason Sluggy hasn’t invited you before this year is because he won’t invite anyone below fourth year. He doesn’t want to waste his time on people who might burnout, I presume.” Bellatrix said.

Hermione found herself distracted as she watched Professor Lennox talk to Dumbledore. What were they discussing? It looked serious.

Hermione couldn’t stop worrying about Lennox. Even when she found herself standing in front of the headmaster’s gargoyle at five to seven her brain was analyzing every interaction they’d had. It would be worthwhile, though, if she could present this new plan she’d made to Dumbledore. That would surely make up for her failure; it had to.

“Treacle fudge,” she mumbled.

The gargoyle immediately moved aside for Hermione. She stepped onto the stairs and tried to calm herself as they took her up; breathing in and out deeply. She stared at the door for a moment before knocking on it.

“Please, come in.”

Professor Dumbledore was seated in the same place as the few times Hermione had previously been in his office.

“Ms. Selwyn, welcome. Please join me. Would you like a sherbert lemon?”

Hermione shook her head; the candies were much too sweet for her.

“Very well, more for me then.” He popped one into his mouth.

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” As if she didn’t already know.

“How have you been settling in here?”

“I’ve been doing well," Hermione found herself surprised at the truth of the statement. "I've adjusted decently, even if some things are hard to get used to." 

Such as sleeping underneath a lake and fearing the structure would collapse and drown her every night.

“I see you’ve made friends with Andromeda Black and perhaps Narcissa Black as well?”

“I've become close with Andromeda. As for Narcissa… we get along fine, I suppose.”

“And what of the third Black sister, Bellatrix? I hear you had a confrontation the other day.”

“We fought, yes. I am terribly sorry about that; it won't happen again.”

“What’s happened has happened. I am sure you miss your friends in the future badly.”

“This is… really what you wanted to talk about, Professor?”

“I’m always interested in the lives of my students, but I do suppose you have more important things to do than talk to an old man,” he winked at her. “Tell me, how is your task going with Professor Lennox?”

Hermione slumped down in her chair.

“Not well; I can’t seem to get an invitation. I think Professor Lennox likes me, but I guess he doesn’t trust me. I promise, Headmaster, I’m figuring it out. I actually have a new plan for approaching him.”

“How exactly are you going about this, Ms. Selwyn?”

“I’m trying to talk to him, about well, you know, blood-supremacy, and stuff.”

“You’ve demonstrated a desire to actively promote these beliefs?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What of your family?”

“My family?”

“The Selwyns, have you mentioned them? Their history could be an asset.”

“Um, I don’t know much about them. Except, that they’re blood- supremacists. Oh, you also told me they were separated from each other around the ’40s.”

Hermione had heard people mention her family enough to recognize that their beliefs were no secret.

“I shouldn’t have assumed you knew about them, Ms. Selwyn. Your supposed grandfather, Odrahn, and his second son were ardent supporters of Grindewald and completely disappeared along with two of Odrahn’s other children when he fell. This includes your apparent mother, Aristella.”

“So if I’ve been telling people I live with my uncle, that would be who?”

“Rouvin or Davien. I’d pick Rouvin. Davien was the Acolyte.”

“Did they have another child? You made it sound like they did.”

“Ah yes, the eldest son was the only one who didn’t flee. He stayed away from the war and was already married. He had no reason to leave. I believe he just had a grandson.”

“Won’t the eldest son be concerned I’ve suddenly popped into existence when you said they were separated, I assumed…”

“Saphir maintains no contact with any of his family who fled. He may however attempt to contact you. Family is very important to pure-bloods, Ms. Selwyn, you must remember this information.”

Hermione nodded.

“Now, have you tried any argument other than one based around pure-blood supremacy?”

“What argument would I even use that doesn’t relate to that?”

He gave her a look over his glasses, which seemed to be a mixture of pity and… analyzation?

“Pure-bloods are not all bigotry, Ms. Selwyn. They have a very deep culture that they fear is dying. They feel as if it’s being diluted and rendered obsolete. They fear muggles may destroy our world.”

“But muggles aren’t destroying the world. There’s no basis for that except bigotry.”

“Their rockets destroyed two Japanese cities in the second world war, did they not?”  
  
“Rockets? You mean nukes. That was just part of the war, though, it’s not like they do that regularly.”

“You are blinded by your own opinions, you must stop and consider the experiences of others. I’m sure you will figure something out.”

Hermione lay in bed that night reviewing everything Dumbledore told her earlier. As much as she was tempted, it would be unwise to put it all into one very long rant. She needed to be more careful. If she started listing things off it’d seem like she was reciting from a textbook.

What most confused her was pure-blood culture. It hadn’t ever occurred to her they had a culture. It made sense, now that the idea was presented to her. Surely, they must’ve developed some unique traditions being so separated from the rest of the world.

How could she expect to impersonate a pure-blood if she didn’t know anything about their culture?

She flipped over onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow, and let out a soft scream. She was supposed to know this stuff; Dumbledore had assumed she would. Not knowing made her completely incompetent; it made her useless.

If lack of knowledge was her issue, she would have to fix it.

It turned out that Hogwarts library did not have a large selection of books on pureblood culture. There had been a couple, but they didn’t provide Hermione with the best idea of what she was supposed to be doing.

It didn’t make much sense. Pure-bloods’ culture was exposedly very important to them. Yet, Hermione couldn’t find any information on their culture.

They probably didn’t want muggle-borns getting their hands on it.

Hermione slammed closed the cover of _A Guide to Marrying Sacred for Pure- Bloods_. Hermione had assumed the book would be full of helpful knowledge on living with a pure-blood and fitting in, but all she had learned about were marriage ceremonies.

This was utterly useless as she had absolutely no intention of marrying her Professor.

_An Introduction to the Culture of Pure-bloods_ and _The History of Magical Culture_ were similarly unhelpful.

She needed something soon. Her next charms class was on Friday and she couldn’t wait for the weekend to be over to try something new. Why did it have to be Friday of all days?

Friday also happened to be her birthday. Her plan was to go down to the kitchen to get herself a cupcake and hole up in her dorm and read a book. She had no interest in celebrating with anyone.

Everyone who mattered wouldn’t be able to celebrate with her anyway. All of her friends were in the future, not even born yet. Her parents were still blissfully unaware of each other. She briefly toyed with the idea of telling Andromeda but quickly decided not to.

She didn’t need a pity party and that’s exactly what it would turn into; Andromeda and her alone trying to pretend like it wasn’t the most pathetic party ever. Well, her fifth birthday was arguably worse; she’d invited her entire class and no one had come.

“Selwyn!”

Hermione glanced up and saw Andromeda smiling at her. She quickly shoved her books down onto a chair, out of sight. It would be bad if someone saw her, a supposed pure-blood, reading books on pure-bloods.

“Are you feeling any better?” She asked, pulling up a chair.

“Um, what?”

“You had your meeting with Dumbledore yesterday and you looked positively despondent.”

“I feel better, the meeting was actually surprisingly fine.”

“He didn’t want to talk to you about anything bad?”

“No, he wanted, to uh, see how I’m doing. Because, you know, I’m new. Asked about my friends.”

Andromeda’s expression briefly showed something akin to surprise. “Oh, well, that’s wonderful, I’m glad. Speaking of friends, I have someone I’d like to introduce to you.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t expect you recall, but I mentioned a boy named Ted the other day.” She tossed a questioning glance towards Hermione.

Hermione nodded her head, holding back a smile.

“Well, as I said he’s my best friend. We study in the library, on occasion, when there are not many people in here to catch us,” Andromeda’s face turned a faint pink... “Not that we’re doing anything untoward! That would… we’re friends. The issue is that he’s muggle-born. I don’t find it to be one, of course, but others would, thus, the secrecy.”

“I’d love to meet him.”

Andromeda turned around and a tall boy in Hufflepuff robes came out from behind a bookcase. His blond hair was ruffled and his uniform askew. He stood in complete contrast to Andromeda; where she was proper he was casual.

“Cleo Selwyn, I would like you to meet Ted Tonks. Ted Tonks, please meet Cleo Selwyn.”

“A bit formal isn’t she?” He gave her a goofy smile and held out his hand.

Hermione smiled back and shook his hand. “Yes, she definitely is.”

Ted took the seat next to Andromeda and Hermione furtively looked between the two of them, trying to figure out if they were close to running away together.

Looking at Andromeda gave Hermione the urge to smack herself. Idiot. If she wanted pure-blood culture all she needed to do was ask a pure-blood.

“Andromeda, I was wondering if you had any traditions? For a birthday?”

She might as well use Lennox’s class being on the same day as her birthday.

“You want to know… my personal birthday traditions?” Andromeda furrowed her brow.

“No, just in general. Like British people; British pure-bloods.”

“You’re not British?” Ted jumped in.

“I’ve, uh, been separate from people most my life. My parents were pretty reclusive after Grindewald fell.”

“Your family, what, supported him?”

“Some of them did.”

“I see.”

“I don’t; I wouldn’t do anything like that! Anyway, Andromeda?”

“I can think of a few. When’s your birthday?”

“Huh?”

“When is your birthday? It’s soon, isn’t it?”

“Friday,” she mumbled.

She had hoped Andromeda wouldn’t figure out why she was asking about birthday traditions, which, looking back was pretty stupid. Andromeda wasn’t dumb.

“Friday! Why didn’t you say? Oh, you haven’t allowed me any time to prepare something for you!”

“Like what?”

“It shall be a surprise.”

“I’d rather it not be.”

“That would ruin the surprise; You’ll simply have to wait, Selwyn.”

Hermione managed to surreptitiously put her useless books on pure-blood culture back on the shelves after Andromeda and Ted had left to go somewhere. She hadn’t asked where.

Walking out of the library, Hermione side-eyed the restricted section. She still had her pass from Dumbledore and if she was checking things off her list…

“This pass is real? You’re not playing some trick on me?”

“Of course it’s real! You can ask Professor Dumbledore.”

“How do you have a general pass to the restricted section after only attending school here for two weeks from the headmaster?” The librarian looked up at her with a cold and disbelieving look.

She had always been the one teacher Hermione couldn’t get to like her and librarians usually adored her. She’d even been close with her public librarian, who she hardly saw when she was little. Not Madam Pince. During her first couple of years, Hermione had made it a personal goal to get her to like her. After realizing Madam Pince was in a perpetually bad mood and liked almost no one, she gave up and focused her energy on more important things.

“I asked him. I’m continuing some independent research I started before coming to school here.”

“I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you. If anything in there gets damaged, I can promise you won’t be allowed back in here.”

“Yes, Madam Pince,” Hermione said, grabbing the pass back and speed-walking into the restricted section.

There were fascinating books all over the cramped section. Hermione had difficulty resisting grabbing one and sitting down to read it then and there multiple times.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t find many books about time-travel. As it was now highly regulated by the Ministry, there weren’t many recent books on the subject.

She decided to jot down a list of every time travel book she saw and go through them one by one.

Passing a book on a very specific type of charm, she decided to create a second list of books not related to time-travel in case she ever had time, since she did have a general pass.

The layout of the restricted section was the same as from her time looking at Horcruxes last year and she quickly made both her lists.

She pulled out the first book on her time-travel list and got to work.

“Selwyn! Selwyn, wake up,” she heard a voice whisper in her ear.

She instinctively went for the wand under her pillow. When her hand closed around the wood handle she grabbed it and shoved it up towards the voice.

“Whoa, Selwyn. It’s Andromeda, not Jack the Ripper.”

“How do you know about him?” She mumbled.

“Ted told me all about important muggles.”

“Humph. What are you doing here?” She yawned and rolled back over, burying her head in the pillow.

Hermione was pretty sure it wasn’t morning yet. She had no idea why Andromeda was in her dorm.

“I’m here to begin your birthday celebrations.”

“Now?”

“Obviously now. You wanted British pure-blood tradition and that begins in the early hours of the morning.”

“Uh, exactly what time is it?”

“Just before three.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes, three in the morning. We must go now, Selwyn.”

If Hermione hadn’t been so tired she might’ve cared about the exasperation in Andromeda’s voice. Usually, she considered herself to be a morning person. However, she did not consider this morning so much as the middle of the night.

“Go where?”

“We’re going outside. I would appreciate it if you would stop asking stupid asking questions.”

How was she supposed to know they were going outside? Leaving the warmth of her bed for the harsh night sounded horrid. Her blankets were so soft and silky, wrapping her in a cocoon of soft bliss. Why would she ever leave?

“No.”

Andromeda yanked the covers off of her bed. When Hermione didn’t move she pulled the pillows out from under her head. Hermione just moaned.

Andromeda grabbed her arm and started pulling. She was surprisingly strong and Hermione felt herself sliding out of bed. She grabbed onto the side with her other arm.

“Get. Out. Of. Bed. Now. I will not hesitate to shock you.”

Andromeda eventually managed to pull her out of the depths of comfort and into the stone halls. It hadn’t been a comfortable or quiet experience. Hermione was impressed her roommates slept through it.

“There’s a passage not far from here which we can use to enter the forest..”

Hermione’s mind was still clouded with sleep. “The Forbidden Forest?”

“Is there another forest I’m unaware of?”

“I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea to go there in the middle of the night.”

“We’re witches, Selwyn. We can manage a forest.”

Hermione wasn’t sure that was true but decided to be quiet before Andromeda sent a second minor shock at her.

They carefully made their way through the stone corridors. Andromeda had insisted they didn’t need wandlight, so the halls were illuminated solely by candles that cast long shadows upon the walls. Every footstep created a loud echo, creating the illusion of an army accompanying them on their passage.

Hermione didn’t make a habit of going out after dark and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done it without the invisibility cloak. She was exposed like this; there was nothing to hide her if anyone came upon them. They should be moving faster; minimizing their time out in the open.

After what seemed like eons, Andromeda stopped in the middle of a seemingly random hallway and turned towards a wall. She pulled out her wand and drew a design on the stone in a fluid motion. She then murmured a password Hermione couldn’t make out.

The stone in the way started to shift, much like it did on the way into the Slytherin dorm. As the stones slid against each other they made a loud grinding sound.

Hermione’s heartbeat against her chest. They were making too much noise; someone would hear. They’d come to check and see them.

Sure enough, the faint echoes of footsteps entered Hermione’s perception. Every step getting louder and louder.

Andromeda grabbed her hand and pulled her into the passageway.

The footsteps continued, slapping against the stone floor.

“Who is that walking around? Is that a student misbehaving and walking around after hours? I’ll get you, I will.” The unmistakable voice of Pringle sang out.

Andromeda drew a shape in the air almost identical to the one she’d drawn before.

Hermione watched Pringle’s shadow come across the corner. It was soon followed by a foot and then a body.

Her vision filled with stone and Pringle was gone. Had he seen her? He had been looking in their direction.

“Lumos. Follow me.” Andromeda muttered, turning around to walk down the passage.

Hermione squinted as the passage filled with blinding light. She turned and followed Andromeda. “Do I get to know what we’re doing yet?”

“You aren’t allowed to until we arrive.”

It was every bit as cold outside as Hermione had expected it would be; even colder with the wind whipping around. The tree branches creaked in the night. If Andromeda’s Lumos went farther up, Hermione was sure she’d see the branches violently swaying. As it was, all she could see was the thick tree roots obscuring the path that Andromeda started down.

Andromeda had on a black fur-lined cloak and she pulled the hood up as they went. Hermione was incredibly jealous.

The wind pulled at Hermione through her clothes, forcing tiny pinpricks of pain along her skin. The only thing she wore over her PJ’s was a silver silk robe Andromeda had given her after finding out Hermione didn’t have anything to wear over her clothes. She wished Andromeda owned something warmer, but she probably shouldn’t be complaining.

They soon arrived at a meadow with a bunch of flowers. Andromeda extinguished her Lumos.

“Here it is; the meadow of souls. One of them anyway.”

Hermione stared at the clearing defined by a perfect circle of leafless trees. The grass was almost up to Hermione’s knees and swayed delicately, not caring about the strong wind stirring up the night. The meadow was lit by white, blue, and purple luminescent flowers. Silver moonlight bathed the meadow in a mistlike fashion.

“Do you know the story behind these meadows?”

“No.”

“It’s said that these meadows were meeting places of the old covens,” as Andromeda talked, she went deeper into the meadow, letting her fingers drag across the flowers. “When witches were persecuted and burned, this is where they could find sanctuary. Each flower represents one of their souls. Muggles couldn’t find these hidden sections of the world; they’re a gift from our gods.”

“That’s interesting. What am I doing here, then?”

“On our birthdays, pure-bloods come to one of these hidden sections of the world, just as our ancestors did. We walk around, with closed eyes and sense the energies of the flowers and the souls that reside within them. When you’ve picked the ones that speak to you, you’ll crush them together and burn them in a small fire. You sit by the fire and meditate; if you’re lucky the spirits will show you visions of your future.”

“So, I’m burning the souls of the dead?”

“Just a symbol of them. The flowers grow back when you’re done. The souls return to help give life to a new flower so they can provide guidance to those in need forevermore. Or so the story goes.”

“I see.”

Andromeda stepped over to the side, finding a spot in the trees. “Go on; it’s not hard.”

“What if a muggle-born did this?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a pure-blood ritual, so obviously we don’t tell the muggle-borns about it. We keep our practices to ourselves.”

“Does that mean you haven’t brought Ted to this field?”

“Why would I? There’s no reason for me to bring him here. I’d tell him if he asked, I suppose, but I wouldn’t bring him here; our ancestors are not his. Now, do stop stalling, Selwyn. ”

Hermione closed her eyes and began her venture into the meadow. She let her fingers glide against the flowers and grass. The wind gently blew her hair into her face and her robe billowed out around her.

She was completely alone in the open meadow; utterly exposed. She couldn’t turn back and so let her feet guide her across the clearing. As she walked on a soft warmth settled in her stomach.

Her fingers touched something cool and velvety. A pleasurable sensation shot up her arm.

She gasped and moved her fingers around the soft surface. She dragged them down until they touched what she assumed to be a stem and pulled. She continued in this fashion, completely losing track of time. Eventually, a small voice in her head told her to open her eyes.

She held four flowers in her hand.

She wasn't sure where to go so, she began to wander over to Andromeda. She couldn’t yell; it felt sacrilegious to disturb the meadow’s peace.

When she reached the center of the meadow, she felt the intense need to stop. She did and slowly lowered herself to the ground. She was careful not to drop any flowers— her supposed guiding souls.

She took out her wand and cast a small ball of fire in front of her.

She glanced down at the flowers and crushed them in her hand. Hermione sprinkled them over the fire; taking utmost care to make sure not a single piece missed the flame.

Smoke rose out and blew off to the side slightly; carried by the wind. A sweet floral smell filled the air.

Hermione inhaled and once again closed her eyes.

She was falling. Tingles raced through her body and numbed her fingers A headache bloomed as her body tilted back and forth. She no longer felt the ground; she no longer felt her body.

Her eyes opened sluggishly; as if awaking from a dream. She found herself in a garden filled with marble statues covered in vines. Vines that twisted around the sculptures so tightly they might as well be chains. A gentle mist coated the ground and faint moonlight illuminated the sandstone path in front of her.

She started to walk through the maze of flowers and plants. There was no order; every plant went wherever it desired, every flower battled for sunlight. Yet, within the chaos was freedom. It was this that made it beautiful.

Insects crawled in front of her feet, and a pond grew larger and larger off to her left. Mushrooms of all colors spread in front of her and small lights bounced from one to another. A single light floated upwards until it was level with her eyes. She stared into a tiny face and glowing wings. She recognized it for what it was; a fairy.

The other fairies rose up and circled her head, before scattering away. A large white snake slithered up to her. It reared up and hissed at her, a long green forked tongue sticking out. She knew, intrinsically, that it was a greeting and the snake meant her no harm. She carefully sidestepped it and continued walking.

The vines snaked their way up to a large castle as overgrown as the garden. The faint sound of a violin floated to her in the wind. She walked into a large foyer with a floor of gold and black stone. Trancelike, she moved towards the white marble stairs and began her ascent. Echoes of laughter danced along the walls, which might’ve been vibrantly painted once upon a time. A gentle breeze passed her and she stared through the body of a ghost.

She found herself fixated on the ghosts as they ran past her, with smiles on their faces and laughter in her eyes. She didn’t belong, she shouldn’t disturb them, but she continued walking.

Her eyes refused to abandon their study, even as it was torture to watch. The happiness that shone from their faces was unattainable. It was the happiness that is only achieved through naivety. At least, now, she experienced it vicariously through the dead.

At the top of the stairs, French doors opened into a large ballroom. A gilded chandelier hung from the delicately painted ceiling. Unlike everything else, this room existed in a realm of perfection. At the end of the room, a balcony watched over the garden. The stars shone brightly in the pitch-black sky.

She stepped into the room and the ghosts became human. She glanced down to find herself covered in chantilly and glitter. Candles suddenly flared to life in the air. The music reached a crescendo and a masked figure grabbed her hand to lead her in a dance.

The woman was cold against her skin; as if still part ghost. Her dress was as black as the sky and her mask a violent purple. They twisted around the room in perfect harmony; gliding across the floor as if they were nothing but smoke dancing in the wind.

A wet, hot liquid hit her forehead. Wax dripped off the candles. The fire within the candles jumped and the room crumbled around her. The masked figure disappeared. Screams surrounded her.

Burnt grass and ash surrounded her. Dead bodies covered the ground in every direction. Littered among the bodies were bird skulls and pieces of rotting flesh. She held a dagger in her hand; fresh blood dripped off it. The moonlight turned orange and the night silent.

She pushed herself up from her knees. The dagger reflected a face that wasn’t her own; distorted beyond measure. This was the end; this was oblivion.

She took a step forward.

The meadow flew back into view. Flowers and soft grass surrounded her, illuminated by a soft and gentle light.

Hermione bent over; breathing heavily. She checked her hand for blood and found nothing. Her clothes were clean. Her heart beat wildly inside her chest and the sound of blood rushed through her ears. Her chest was caving in from its weight. She was suddenly aware of everything.

Not real. Divination isn’t real. You don’t believe in it, Granger. So why did it seem real? Why did it feel as if one day she’d find herself standing among the countless bodies of the dead? Why did it seem pointless to try and avoid that scene?

Hermione tried to distract herself and calm down. She paid attention to the rhythm of her breathing and the sound of the grass rustling in the breeze. The cool wind against her heated face was euphoria. Slowly, she returned to normal.

She found her wand and rushed over to Andromeda.

“Well? How did it go?” Andromeda asked excitedly.

“I don’t… I don’t think they showed me anything good.”

“You saw something?”

“Yes, I saw something. It didn't feel good.”

“It must’ve been a warning; you must be careful.” Her tone changed to worried.

“I have no clue what that was. I'm a little shaken up. Could we go back now?”

“Yes, of course. Would you like to stop for some tea on the way?”

Hermione nodded.

The next morning at breakfast Hermione huddled down next to Andromeda. The cold hadn’t left her from the night before, nor had the feeling of blood staining her hands. She had to glance down at her hands every couple of minutes to assure herself that there wasn’t actually any blood on her, no matter how real it seemed.

She stabbed at her eggs and decided she would not be participating in any more pure-blood rituals.

“Selwyn, I have a birthday gift for you,” Andromeda said.

“You bought me a gift?”

“Of course I did. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” Andromeda sounded upset at the implication she wouldn’t buy Hermione a gift. She reached down into her robe and pulled out a carefully wrapped parcel. “Happy birthday Selwyn.”

Hermione carefully unwrapped the package and a group of crystals fell out.

“I noticed you didn’t wear any and after our conversation in the library, I thought you might like some. Each crystal has a unique usage. This one here is for love,” She pointed at each crystal as she spoke. “This one stores and amplifies your positive energy, this one helps protect against physical and emotional negativity, and this one helps you with new beginnings. I attempted to pick the ones you’ll find most useful. I can show you how to cleanse them if you’d like. It’s an old superstition, but most pure-bloods still wear them in some form.”

“Thank you, Andromeda. Thank you so much.” She hadn’t expected anything. Hadn’t dared to hope that someone would buy her something. Yet here Andromeda sat, giving her a gift.

Hermione reached over and hugged her. Hermione let her head rest on Andromeda’s shoulder and tried to put her emotions into the hug. Andromeda stiffened at the contact and Hermione worried she’d done something wrong. However, Andromeda quickly relaxed and placed her arms around Hermione.

“Will you help me put them on?” She whispered into Andromeda’s ear.


	7. Possibilities of Blood Prejudice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here I am again. I said I would update more and I didn't whoops. Life just got to me. Anyway this month is the month I post more, hopefully.
> 
> Side note I did actually go back and minority edit the previous chapters, nothing major, just made them a bit better and more readable. Everything story related is still the same though.

Hermione made a point to be early to every charms class. Well, she made a point to be early to every class, but especially to charms. There was no better opportunity to talk to Professor Lennox.

Today was no exception, birthday or not. Unfortunately, she’d spent too much time with Andromeda discussing the different properties of crystals and was now running late (she’d only be five minutes early to class).

So, she was hurrying through the empty corridors, lit only by the early morning light. The singular benefit to her sprint was that it staved off the morning chill.

She slammed to a halt outside her charms classroom, almost tripping over her own feet. Once she was stable again she took a short moment to calm her breathing and carefully opened the wooden door.

Professor Lennox sat at the front of the room; frowning down at a pile of papers. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and smiled at Hermione.

“Ah, Cleo. Good Morning!”

“Good Morning, Professor. How are you?”

“Splendid, thank you. I hope you are the same.”

“I am, thank you,” she replied.

Andromeda’s gift had been a wonderful way to start the morning, but she wasn’t about to tell anyone she didn’t need to about her birthday. The gift was enough to move her mind off of her vision, which she intended to completely ignore for as long as possible. Divination was worthless after all.

“Those are lovely crystals, Cleo. I don’t believe I’ve seen you wear any before.”

“Well, that’s because I haven’t, I lost mine in the move.” Her well-prepared lie spilling from her mouth. It was important to get this right. “I know it’s an old superstition, but I feel so much safer with them on.”

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean.” He grabbed a thick cord hanging around his neck and jiggled it for her to see. “It’s good to see our culture is still valued by the next generation. Speaking of, I hear you and Bellatrix recently dueled.”

Hermione cringed. “Er, yes, Professor. It was, um, unfortunate,” she fiddled with the seam of her robe.

“Bellatrix is one of my favorite students, you know.”

Of course, she was. Of course, Bellatrix got on well with the Death Eater professor.

“I, uh, it truly wasn’t as big a deal as some people are making it out to be.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t, Cleo. I am actually glad to hear that you have the spirit to enter combat, especially with an opponent as skilled as Bellatrix. Not many women would do that.”

What? Were women all of a sudden too faint of heart to duel?

“I’m confident in my magical abilities, Professor. I’m glad to hear you’re not upset about the fight.”

“Upset with you! Oh, Cleo, I could never be upset with someone as talented as you. Whatever field you enter after Hogwarts will be more than lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Professor, that means a lot.”

“Do you know what you’re planning to do yet?”

Hermione had done a lot of thinking about that. She was hoping she would be back to her time by the end of the year, but she’d have to find something to do if she wasn’t. If she wasn’t then… well, she would help the Order in some way.

“I’m not sure yet. There are so many important things I could do with my life.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll have a Wizengamot position?”

“No, I don’t think so. That role falls to my Uncle Saphir and his children.”

“That’s what I thought. The Wizengamot may be too boring for you, though. You might want something with a little more danger, but just as much meaning, even more meaning perhaps?”

“Whatever I do, I want to create change, to help those who need to be helped. If that’s dangerous then it’s dangerous. I can handle myself perfectly well.”

Professor Lennox leaned back in his chair, studying her. “I may have an opportunity for you, Cleo.”

Was this it? Her heart beat frantically against her ribcage. Was this how she received her invitation?

“That sounds wonderful, Professor. What is it?”

“A chance to change the world, Cleo. Let me think a bit more on this, you’d best get ready for class.”

Hermione walked over to her chair, her mind abuzz with excitement. The rest of the day passed in a haze, possibilities presenting themselves to her one after the other.

The day soon ended and Saturday came, a day which left her blissfully alone. Andromeda had Quidditch tryouts and she was the only reason Hermione ever spent time around anyone. Apparently, the Slytherin Quidditch team made everyone try out because being on the team the year previous didn’t mean someone wasn’t better than you this year. Hermione’d been surprised to note that the rule against first- years having brooms didn’t yet apply.

It was her first day as a true adult, and she spent it accordingly; studying. She’d thrown up a minor disillusionment charm around her bed so that no one would bother her. Especially not Rita Skeeter.

Rita’s obsession, and honestly there wasn’t another word for it at this point, with Hermione intensified after she found out about Hermione’s duel with Bellatrix. The kid they’d fought in front of, Alex Barnes apparently, started telling everyone insight about it after his release from the hospital.

Rita’s current strategy for talking to Hermione was to hide behind a corner and wait for Hermione to come by. She’d then pop out and follow Hermione to class. Hermione would often find herself speedwalking to escape Rita’s questions, and she’d only walk faster and faster as Rita speed up accordingly. Hermione was slightly terrified wondering how Rita managed to learn her schedule.

When Rita failed to talk to Hermione that way, she’d attack in their dorm. Hermione would be reading a book or doing homework only to look up and see Rita standing there silently watching her.

While Rita was the worst, she wasn’t the only one. Hermione was sure she’d been introduced to half the school from this one incident. It was incredibly stifling, it gave her absolutely no time to be alone! There’d always be someone staring at her or coming to talk to her.

She was pretty sure the only reason that so many people came up to her in the first place was because the other half of the fight was as approachable as a rabid dog. As terrifying as one too. Apparently, it was a miracle she survived the fight.

Bellatrix was great at dueling, sure, but she wasn’t that much better than Hermione. Just because she’d been on the defensive when McGonagall arrived, didn’t mean that she couldn’t have won.

No; she wasn’t going to let thoughts of Bellatrix ruin her day. She’d finished her coursework for the next week already, which meant she could do one of her favorite things: study whatever she wanted.

Right now, that was time-travel. There were three books laid out in front of her along with several notepads. A pile of discarded books lay off to the side of her bed.

She’d been going through the books all day and hadn’t found a single worthwhile scrap of information.

They all focused on things she already knew or completely unfounded theory. No matter what Greighton Nott said, she was sure frog venom was not the secret to time travel.

She needed a book detailing how to travel forward in time or at least a theory revolving around it. She could work with a theory.

She might be able to make it to the library one last time and see if there were any books hidden away that she missed.

Hermione scrambled off her bed and shoved all the time travel books into her bag with the extendable charm before rushing over to the library. A brief wave of her pass to Madame Pince and she received a glare (probably for running in the library) and a reluctant wave into the restricted section.

Hermione carefully traversed the roped-off section and made her way back to the time travel area. It wasn’t so much its own section as it was a couple of shelves in the back shadows. The Ministry was serious when they said time travel was highly regulated.

Before placing back the books on time travel she checked out earlier she scrutinized the shelves for any books she might’ve missed in previous trips. Nothing. She’d already read or scanned every single book.

The only books referencing going back in time farther than the five hours a time turner could take you mentioned Eloise Mintumble. A couple talked about the disastrous effects time travel could have on you, but if she made it through third-year mostly unharmed, she assumed she’d be fine.

Besides, her main problem was going forward through time and the only known person to have done that was Eloise Mintumble. After accidentally going back five centuries and the subsequent retrieval she’d aged up all five centuries and died. She also managed to “unalive” twenty-five of her descendants. Not encouraging in the slightest.

Hermione trudged to the front desk, already regretting her decision.

“Excuse me, Madame Pince?”

“You again. What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you had any other books on time travel?”

The librarian narrowed her eyes. “Are the books you scammed out of my restricted section, not to your satisfaction?” She snapped.

“I just, they don’t have the information I’m looking for.”

“You ungrateful lot get more and more picky by the day. No, I do not have anything other than what you see. Learn to value what you have and not desecrate this library.”

“Right, er, thanks.”

“Ah, Selwyn, there you are. I knew I’d be able to find you in the library.”

Hermione turned her head and saw Andromeda strolling up to her. There was no sign she’d been at Quidditch try-outs earlier.

“Shhhhhhh.” Madame Pince said, casting an angry glare in Hermione’s direction.

Hermione grabbed Andromeda’s arm and spun her around. “Let’s go outside, I’ve already angered her, I don’t need a permanent ban.”

“If you are unable to make her like you, it’s absolutely hopeless for everyone else.”

“Apparently asking for more books on a subject is an insult to her library.”

“Now you understand why everyone avoids her.”

“I noticed that the moment I met her. Did you finish tryouts?”

“Yes, thank Merlin; Greengrass was in a horrid mood today. Honestly, he’s made try-outs much more difficult than they ought to be; there was only one seventh-year on the team last year.”

“Did you make the team at least?”

Andromeda looked affronted. “Of course I made the team, Selwyn. No one came close to me.”

“You play keeper, right?"

“Yes and I’m absolutely exhausted; Greengrass was still forcing everyone to work when I left.”

“And you wonder why I don’t play Quidditch.”

“I wonder why you don’t like flying Selwyn; every pureblood worthy of their magic loves flying. You would’ve made a great chaser, I’m sure.”

“You've never seen me fly. Why chaser?”

Andromeda shrugged. “It was the only spot occupied by someone who graduated last year and therefore the only one you’d have stood a chance of getting. You were going to dinner, correct

There was no way she’d receive any spot on the team.

“Yes.”

“Wonderful, I’m positively starved."

Hermione found herself back at the dining hall Tuesday morning, frowning at her food choices.

Everything she looked at made her stomach churn with nausea. It started over the weekend and now seemed to have culminated in the inability to eat anything solid. She grabbed a cup of coffee; maybe it would be better at lunch.

After breakfast, Hermione had Defense Against the Dark Arts which was usually in an organized classroom, with the desks occasionally placed off to the side. Today, however, things looked to be very different. The desks had been replaced by a bunch of random objects; pillars that stretched halfway to the ceiling, partial staircases, poles, cabinets, and couches among other things.

In stark contrast to the peculiarity of the class, was her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He stood at his usual post in front of his desk in his usual gray pants, white dress shirt, and tie, chatting to a Hufflepuff student as if nothing was odd.

Hermione made her way over to Alastor who was standing, not unexpectedly, in a corner far away from not only the Slytherins but his fellow Hufflepuffs as well.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“I’m guessing we’re having a special lesson. I’m sure Professor Altier will tell us soon.”

“You’re not curious?”

“He’s the one teacher I don’t expect to do anything dumb.”

“That’s… fair.”

Hermione was surprised to find this actually true. She’d only had a few classes with him, but he seemed incredibly good at his job. This shouldn’t be surprising, but the track record for Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers was one good, five bad.

“Ahem, welcome everyone,” Professor Altier said. All chatter immediately stopped and the Hufflepuff student he was talking to stepped back towards her group of friends.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why class looks different today. Well, as I’ve mentioned before, due to the lack of a consistent teacher in this class over your years here, I felt it necessary to have a review period. Last class was our last day of that. Which means today we can really start learning. The one thing every witch and wizard must know how to do when defending themselves is how to use their surroundings. To create a space that closely mimics what surrounding you’ll find in the real world I did some redecorating. Before I give out more specific instructions, please remember it’s not only important to remain aware of what’s around you, but who.”

Hermione was sure he looked directly at her when he said this. She should probably find the poor boy she and Bellatrix almost injured and apologize.

After they received their instructions they paired off and found a place to duel. Hermione and Alastor paired up, the only cross house pairing in the class, and stood by a staircase and cabinet respectively.

Bellatrix somehow ended up next to Hermione, though there was a good amount of space between them due to the room’s size. Hermione was pretty sure it’d been enlarged for the day’s class. Bellatrix had paired up with one of Hermione’s roommates, Anathema.

She was Hermione’s favorite roommate. She never left a mess; in fact, her corner of the room was so meticulously organized it might as well be a museum. There wasn’t even a pencil out of place. Hermione was just glad there was one less person throwing dresses and perfume around the room at random.

Of course, she didn’t know much about her. They’d shared one conversation when Hermione first arrived and that was that. She’d actually talked to Rita more than her other roommates, which was… disturbing, to say the least.

Bellatrix, herself, seemed less upset than she usually was. That really didn’t mean much, except her lips weren’t in their usual scowl and she wasn’t glaring at—

Something knocked into Hermione’s shoulder and she stumbled back. Hermione turned to glare at Alastor.

“What was that?"

“You weren’t paying attention. That’s your fault, you won’t have the luxury of daydreaming in an actual combat scenario. You must be vigilant constantly.”

“Constant vigilance, right, I know. You’ve told—”

“I’ve what?”

“Er, nothing.”

“No, something.”

“Um, someone told me that too, once. A while ago, it brought back memories.”

Memories of Alastor much older. Scarred both inside and out. Memories of a dead man who hadn’t deserved to die. It wasn’t fair; not much had been.

Another hard surface hit her shoulder. Hermione glanced at the ground and found shattered white pieces. She looked around and noticed the cabinet next to Alastor open.

“Hey! Seriously, cut it out.”

“Constant vigilance, Selwyn, and you said ‘you.’”

“What?”

“You said, ‘you told.’ Like, I had told you something.”

“I, er, meant someone else. Don’t give me that look. You’d remember if you said that to me before.”

“I suppose,” he reluctantly grumbled.

“Well, let's start the exercise then.”

All they had to do was try and hit each other with objects around the room that were magicked to only hurt slightly, while still acting as they would without any charms on them. One person attacked while the other defended and then they switched roles.

Hermione started out attacking since she’d no desire to be hit with another object, even if they didn’t hurt too badly. She searched around the room to find something she could use. Her eyes locked on Bellatrix’s and her heart stuttered.

From what she had seen of Bellatrix’s participation, she wasn’t all too interested in the activity.

“Shall we try for a second round, Selwyn?”

“We’re in class, Bellatrix. We’d get in trouble again.”

“We shall do it later, then.”

“I’d rather not do it all,” Hermione moved to turn back to Alastor.

“Awww, is the bwood- traitor scared of Bellatrix, of what I can do to you?”

“You can’t do anything to me.”

“Is that so? I seem to remember you were extremely close to ending up in the hospital wing next to the mudblood.”

“Then you remember wrong and he’s not a mublood,” she gritted out.

“A mudblood is by definition, someone whose father and mother are both muggles. I believe Barnes fits that definition.”

“Don’t use that stupid definition. We both know it’s about hatred and not genealogical accuracy or you’d be fine using muggle-born.”

“Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood,” she sang.

“Cleo, just leave her be. Let’s continue our exercise,” Alastor interjected.

“Yes; listen to your Hufflepuff master and scamper away.”

“Ms. Black.”

Hermione and Bellatrix turned towards the sound of their teacher’s voice.

“Yes, Professor?”

“I hope that I did not hear what I thought I heard leave your mouth.”

“Well, what is it you believe you heard?”

“Ms. Black, do not play games with me.”

Bellatrix shrugged. “It’s an accurate statement.”

“You know I think you’re very talented, Ms. Black.”

Bellatrix frowned and looked at the ground.

“You could have a very bright future, but not if you continue on like this.”

“I’d rather you not tell me what to do.”

“I’m assigning you detention with me for the next week. You can meet me here at eight every night.”

“Every night? Including Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Black, including Friday.”

“No!”

“Excuse me?”

“Not Friday, I have someplace to be.”

“I’m sure you can reschedule your plans.”

“I can’t; I’m to be with Professor Lennox. If you simply ask him; you’ll see that. I shall make up the detention another night.”

Hermione stared at Bellatrix. How very interesting.

“I’ll talk to him later today. For now, assume you still have detention with me.”

“Of course, Professor,” Bellatrix replied, her former confidence returning.

Bellatrix turned back toward Hermione as the Professor walked away. Hermione yanked her gaze away. She was sure she did it before Bellatrix saw her looking at her. Pretty sure, anyway.

“So, I believe we were discussing a duel, Selwyn?” Bellatrix grinned.

“What is it you’re so desperate to do Friday with Professor Lennox, Bellatrix?”

“That is none of your business,” she snarled.

“What? Are you having extra tutoring? I suppose you probably need it.”

“How about you both stop bickering like children so that we can all do our work? Alastor asked.

He’d made his way over to them sometime during their conversation with Professor Lennox. Anathema was standing a couple of feet away, herself.

“Don’t worry, Alastor. We won’t be dueling.”

“You’re so very uptight, Selwyn. What’s a little duel? If I really am unable to do anything to you, there’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”

“I’m more afraid of getting sent to Azkaban after I murder you.”

“How about you leave it alone, Black. Not everyone tries to hide their incompetence by dueling.”

“This conversation doesn’t concern you, Huffy.”

“I think it does, especially when someone I don’t trust is goading my friend into a duel she doesn’t want.”

Bellatrix laughed. “Am I meant to be insulted by that?”

“You’re supposed to take it as what it is: A fact.”

“How about you duel Moody, Black,” Anathema spoke for the first time, her dark brown eyes trained on the three of them.

“Why would I lower my standards that far, Maufaire?”

“You’ll spend your time trying to convince Selwyn to duel and have none left for dueling. Moody shall likely make the Auror program, I’m sure he’s closer to your level than I am. We both know dueling isn’t my specialty.”

Bellatrix turned to study Alastor closer. “I could easily defeat him; there would be no point.”

“You think too highly of yourself, Black,” Alastor replied.

“You really believe you can defeat me?”

“I’d take pleasure in it. You have to stick to the rules of the exercise though: only use spells that utilize the things around you.”

“We shall not take turns attacking and defending, however.”

“Obviously.”

“Very well, Moody, let us duel.” Bellatrix marched over to the other side of the room.

Hermione looked over at Alastor, who had a look of grim determination on his face. He turned around and raised his wand to Bellatrix.

“Come, Selwyn. Let’s leave them.”

Hermione startled at the whisper inches away from her ear. Hermione turned and inhaled the scent of ambrosial perfume. It smelled heavenly and she had difficulty resisting leaning in smell the perfume a second time.

“I hope you aren’t offended I bartered away your partner.”

“Um, no, not at all. I think he did most of the bartering actually.”

“That he did. I wanted to talk to you, actually; I feel awful we haven’t spoken much since you’ve started school.”

Anathema couldn’t possibly be interested in speaking to her. She seemed to already have a plethora of friends, who were surely more interesting than her. Besides, everywhere Anathema went there was a multitude of people hanging on to her every word.

Not that Hermione could blame them; she was captivating. Ethereal in the way gold eyeshadow shimmered across her eyelids, contrasting her delicate silky skin. Elegant in every tilt of her head and shift of long fingers. Her voice was calming; her smile understanding.

“Well, it’s only been a couple of weeks since I’ve been here.”

“Yes, but we’re roommates.”

Hermione shrugged.

“How are you settling in here, anyway?”

“It’s actually been a fairly easy transition, Andromeda’s helped me a lot, if you know her.”

“Black?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know you two were friends, I heard you got into a duel with her sister, though.”

“Um, yes to both, though I’m rather tired of talking about our duel.”

“I’m sure you are. I’m simply glad you’re alive and not scattered on the floor, Selwyn.”

“Yes, er, thanks.”

“But, Prefect Black, hmmm. She seems nice, but she doesn’t really talk a lot, mostly keeps to herself and her sisters. Now, you, I suppose. Perhaps you could introduce us.”

“I guess I could. If you really wanted.”

“Oh, of course. She seems like such a great person to have as a friend, you know.”

“I’ll make sure to mention it to her then.”

“Wonderful, thank you, Selwyn. So, what do you think of Slughorn? I assume you’ve had to spend a lot of time with him.”

“I haven’t really talked to him outside of class, actually, but he seems like a good teacher.”

Was her opinion of him thirty years in the future valid? She assumed two wizarding wars and that much time would’ve changed him.

“Really? He usually gets pretty involved with his students. I would’ve assumed that’d be magnified with you being new and all. I suppose if he introduced you to Black, that was his way of handing you off without abandoning you.”

“Actually, Dumbledore introduced me to Andromeda. I didn’t meet Slughorn until I took his class.”

“Wait, _Dumbledore_ introduced you to Black, he didn’t just send you off to Slughorn and tell you to have a nice day?”

“Um, no? He helped me get everything set up and all.”

“That’s so strange. Oh, did he sort you after he did all of that?”

“Erm, some of it? But then he checked in on me the other day too?”

“Are you sure that’s actually Dumbledore?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“He’s in love with the Gryffindors, his hatred of Slytherin is almost as large.”

“He doesn’t prefer the Gryffindors.”

“You haven’t noticed? I suppose you’ve only been here a short time. Pay attention and you’ll see it, Selwyn. It’s impossible to miss.”

In her time at Hogwarts, Hermione hadn’t once noticed him favoring the Gryffindor’s. Sure, he might spend more time focused on them, but that was because Harry was the chosen one. Since Harry was in Gryffindor, it made sense his friends all were. He just spent time with them though, he didn’t favoritize anyone. With Harry not being here, that eliminated any possibility of Dumbledore possibly favoring Gryffindor. The Slytherins probably just did bad things most often and blamed it on someone else.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Trust me on this one Selwyn. After all, I’ve been a Slytherin for seven years and you’ve been one but a few weeks. Watch him, you’ll see.”

Even if Hermione did want to do that, which she didn’t, she had more important things to do.

Like following Bellatrix on Friday.


End file.
